


Memories

by Xari



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xari/pseuds/Xari
Summary: There is a darkness looming over Camp Half-Blood. A horrible, sickening force that seeks to kill only demigods. After a fierce battle at Half-Blood, resulting in many deaths, Amy has taken charge alongside Percy, Annabeth, and Nico against the beings that lurk in the dark, seeking to corrupt her friends. But will her leadership alone be enough? Or is there much more at stake in the unknown that they do not yet know?





	1. The Crossroads to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the middle of my fanfiction, but I decided to cut out a lot of the story once I drafted up a plot.
> 
> Previously, at some point in my fan fiction involving Percy, Annabeth, Nico, and Amy (new character I introduced awhile back), Percy and Annabeth both died. Nico and Amy launched a rescue mission and brought them both back from the dead, though this cost Percy his memories. Shortly afterwards, there was a huge invasion on Camp Half-Blood, which resulted in many campers dying. This chapter is the aftermath of the battle.
> 
> Current pairings are Nico/Amy and Percy/Annabeth.

The pale moon was already dangling from the crest of the world when Annabeth approached her cabin's door. Her thoughts were abound within her mind's eye, which was racing through the day's events with unprecedented celerity that she caught only brief images of her memories. Annabeth stood there, unmoving like a marble statue, frozen with her hand on the door as one would if vacillating leaving home to embark on an ambitious crusade. She was filled to the brim with inexplicable emotions—some making her chest ache with a dull pain—that threatened to overflow like a witch's cauldron, cascading like a river over a cliff.

"Hey." An unequivocally familiar voice came from behind her. It was Percy. "Are you going to stand there gaping awkwardly at the door? It helps to knock, you know."

Annabeth smiled in spite of herself and turned. "And for what reasons am I blessed with your presence? It is pretty late." Percy stood a few feet from her. The radiant moonlight beamed down on him brightly revealing glowing green eyes that stared inquisitively back into Annabeth's, as if laboring to unravel her deepest and darkest secrets. The half of Percy's face turned from the moon rested in shadows, and Annabeth thought amusedly that he resembled a cryptic monster she'd once read in one of her novels.

"You know—it's funny," Percy said unexpectedly, bending down to sit on the swaying grass. Behind him stretched the expanse of Camp Half-Blood, basked in a lunar light that seemed as if one had ran across the field with a white brush in hand and painted the tips of the grass. He motioned for her to sit with him and she did, "how quickly life can change within a moment's notice. But, an even more intriguing prospect—one that I can't answer myself—one inconceivable, is our ability to adapt and accept those changes. I don't know if you know this yourself, but I was dead today. As dead and cold as stone." Percy pointed to the back of his head, trying to show Annabeth the now invisible crack in his head that had been made when he was tossed across the field by the giant. "I can feel it even now—the memories of how it was like in Hades' prison: cold, desolate, lonely. And fear. I felt so, so much fear."

"What did you fear?" Annabeth asked. Percy glanced up, the effulgence of the moon spilling across his face.

"Oh, so many things," he said, looking at her then. "But what frightened me most was the idea that I'd never see my mom, or friends, ever again. To brave eternal darkness in solitary is something no one should have to be forced into. Imagine the anguish at confronting a never ending night and knowing that you'd be this way forever. At least in the Fields of Elysium you are accompanied by other heroes whom have perished. But in Hades' cell I was a severed soul, split cleanly in two, one imprisoned with Hades, and the other meandering the Fields, desperately searching for its missing half. I felt both elated, for half of me was in Elysium, and empty—quite a contradictory pairing, don't you think?"

Annabeth agreed silently, leaning back to stare at the stars in the sky.

"It's surprising what I remember when I was alive," Percy continued, "—at least before I died for the first time. People say that in your last few moments you can see the flashes of your most important memories." He shook his head. "I didn't see anything—just blackish and blurry silhouettes. I remember what I don't remember, if that makes sense. I've only got quick flashes—the outline of a club, which I must say was very large indeed—and nothing else. But …" Percy trailed off, turning his head to glance at the grassy field below. "There," he said, pointing. Annabeth followed his gaze and fell upon the practice field below. In the obscurity of the shadows cast by the tree line Annabeth discerned the shimmering swords and axes resting on racks, and behind them, the ominous looking straw dummies leering over the field like monsters of the night. "I feel drawn to there. There's an aura of familiarity whenever I'm in that ring. It's the first place I went to when I returned with Nico and Amy." He smiled at their names.

"They fetched me, you know?" Percy continued smiling, seeming unable to contain it. "Went all the way to hell and back for me."

"How did they even find you?" Annabeth pulled up closer to him, genuinely intrigued. "I can only imagine, with the hundreds and thousands of people down there you should've been lost." Percy turned to her, the greenness of his eyes vibrant in the night like a cat and said,

"I haven't asked them—didn't really have the time, really. But what I do remember is those boneheads steering me out of a long dark tunnel into the light. Just prisons and a bright light. And—," he began, but paused, seeming suddenly surprised, "—your hair is wet."

It was then that Annabeth felt the dampness of her hair pressed against the shoulders of her shirt, wetting them. Water dripped from the ends of her freely hanging strands, disappearing into the shadows of the grass. Feeling suddenly chilled to her core, Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest, hunching as a slight breeze weaved through the camp.

"Here," Percy said, stripping himself of his jacket. When Annabeth hesitated, he insisted, "I won't be cold. Just take it." He wrapped the jacket around her like a blanket and sat, this time a little closer she thought.

"I went for a swim, if you're curious," she finally said. "It's been a long day."

"It has," he agreed, staring absentmindedly at the sky. "Do you see there?" He nudged his head toward a cluster of stars suspended directly above them. From the top of the hill, away from the bustling urban city of New York, the smog was absent and the cluster was radiant. Annabeth leaned back until she was lying down, feeling the cool grass brush against her sensitive hands and arms. "That's Hercules. Nico showed it to me one night when we were making rounds around the camp. He pulled me off to the side, over to the hill not far from here and pointed to the sky. At first I could hardly make anything out, only able to see a bunch of harsh lines and corners, but when Nico outlined them for me I was finally able to see it. It only takes a little bit of imagination for it to become obvious."

Annabeth frowned, trying to descry the constellation. Of all the education she'd received as a young girl, the study of astronomy had never been realized. At times she felt she'd discerned a tip of a spear, or maybe the head of a chariot, but her attempts came out wrong every time. Most of the time she'd found herself staring at a fat lot of nothing, with the spear sometimes underneath what she believed to be the base of the chariot, or Hercules running awkwardly, submerged underneath a foaming sea. She lay there struggling until Percy spoke again.

"I suppose that's why I'm so afraid of being alone."

She turned to him, feeling her face echo curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Percy spoke, still facing the stars. Annabeth saw the rise and fall of his jaw line and with it the dancing of the shadows across his face. "To live a life where you're utterly alone—to weather the world in solitude—is to forgo the experiences that make us human. We're like walking textbooks, you know? And sometimes I lay on some grassy mound thinking to myself that I'm just a book, ready to be opened and read. Without others with you you're just like an empty book, waiting to be written in. Quill and ink in hand."

"Do you sometimes feel like you're missing a part of your life—a few pages, so to speak?" Annabeth saw the change in Percy's expression, from a slight and distant one to a look one would have when pondering life's deep mysteries. He lay there, motionless as his eyes slowly gazed over the night sky until he finally said, almost hesitatingly:

"Sometimes. There are times when I feel like a piece of me is missing, lost or locked away by one of the gods. Even today…" Percy turned his head to her, his eyes bearing into hers like with such a hidden sorrow that she wanted to hold him close and whisper that it would be all right—that he and she would remain that way forever, clasped underneath the evening sky. "I feel like a piece of me has been stolen unfairly—as if I'm forgetting something of extreme importance, like a camp dance or a quest with an upcoming deadline."

Annabeth smiled within her mind, suddenly reminiscent of their dance a few months past. "I feel that, too, sometimes. You're whole, but at the same you aren't. Physically healthy, but as a whole still incomplete." Percy turned fully to her now so that he was lying on his side.

"It's funny," he said. "I don't even know you, but I'm here telling you all about my feelings as if you're someone I'm close to—like a best friend, I suppose. I can't talk to Nico about these sorts of things. He'd just grin like an idiot and call me hopeless. " Annabeth, not turning from his gaze, shrugged playfully.

"I guess I'm easy to talk to." Percy remained wordless at that for a moment, and then nudged her with his arm.

"Here, look at that one," he said, pointing at another group of stars in the sky. "That one is called The Great Bear and the Seven Stars. See where it dips near the bottom? …"

Annabeth woke to the sound of distant chatter and the birds' chirping. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and yawned. She'd fallen asleep the night before, counting the infinitely many stars in the midnight sky before succumbing to a heavy blanket of fatigue. As she rose something slipped off from her shoulders and crumbled into a heap at her legs. Looking down, Annabeth recognized it as Percy's leather jacket.

Percy.

The name lingered in her mind like a dream that'd already begun fading. Annabeth stood, the jacket in her hands, and looked about. The sun had just crept up from behind the peak of the hill, casting a series of red-tinted orange rays across the camp. Down below in the practice field were campers already sparring in the rings—the faint clanging of metal on metal echoing like a lyrical tune.

"Annabeth." The voice came from behind her. She turned to find Amy dressed in a black cotton tunic and blue jeans. There were shadows under her eyes and Amy looked visibly tired, as if she had spent the night worrying away. "Are you hungry? I was about to send someone to wake you, but it seems that won't be needed."

Annabeth nodded, suddenly conscious of her voracious appetite. She'd had nothing the day before save for a few meager bites.

"Poor thing," Amy said sympathetically, and motioned with her hand to a satyr. He came immediately, looking at her with obedient eyes. "Please get her—what is it you want, Annabeth?" Feeling as if she possessed and appetite large enough to consume a horse, Annabeth said quickly:

"Anything will be fine—but I'd like a glass of milk."

When the satyr returned with Annabeth's order, Amy led her to the breakfast tables and waited patiently while she ate, gazing blankly at what Annabeth thought was the horizon. When she'd finished eating, Amy leaned forward, pulling from underneath the table what seemed to be schematics, and unrolled it.

Annabeth frowned, turning the paper around. Drawn meticulously onto the paper was the entirety of the camp, walls and all. She could make out the base of the hill and the cabins and the practice fields just below the breakfast tables. The drawing failed to leave out a single detail and even included Thalia's tree, which had been labeled with the huntress's name. Taking up the rest of the page was the tree line, which was perfectly rendered—each tree and pond and cave drawn to scale.

"Look here," Amy said, pointing at the entrance to the camp. "This is where they came yesterday—the monsters—from the east." Annabeth took a sip from her milk as Amy continued. "I spoke to the sentries posted before the battle when I awoke this morning. They swarmed in from this side of the forest," she said, pointing to a thicket just to the side of the main road leading to the camp. On the map it was flanked by a small creek barely wider than the size of a cabin, which was fairly small. "The bulk of the invasion force pushed their way through the main gate while two smaller, expeditionary forces broke through the palisade at these two points."

Amy tapped the two respective areas on the map. "The primary invasion force breached the gates and passed through the protective barrier unhindered. This is what caught us off guard at first. Demetrius was the sentry posted near the brunt of the enemy army, which is why he was killed almost instantly. They continued to push until they halted here." Amy placed her finger on at the breakfast tables, which were the midway point between the practice field and the cabins. "This is where we turned to fight. Campers in the practice field most likely joined the fray after the horn was blown."

Annabeth blinked, placing the invisible armies on the map like chess pieces. "But what about the other ones—the two groups that broke through the palisades."

"The second group was intercepted by me. I was passing by the wall when they broke through. The first was eliminated by Percy over by the river where we practice rafting." Amy leaned forward, clasping her hands together. "This was a threat, Annabeth. And not an idle one at that—meant to scare us into submission. We're no safer in this camp than our own homes. The only difference is that we are congregated here, and not isolated where they can pick us off."

"So what do we do?" Annabeth asked. "Whoever is behind this despises the gods."

"Yes," said Amy, looking at the map expectantly as if waiting for an answer to leap out from within the page. "I've already assigned members from the Ares cabin to investigate the creek nearby."

"So what do you need me to do?"

Amy didn't answer, instead looking around until she spotted a girl sitting a few benches away. "Her. Her brother's missing. My guess is he's a corpse in the woods, but I promised her I'd dedicate some resources to his recovery. Either way, it's worth searching to give him a proper burial so that his spirit can rest in peace. You remember what happened last time they refused to properly bury a camper."

It wasn't so much that the camp had refused a proper interring of the body, but rather that the camper's body was never fully recovered. A hundred and twenty years ago a camper was locked out of the camp and left for dead. When he screamed for the campers to open the gates, they'd refused, telling him it was nigh impossible for them to save him. The monsters hauled him away as he screamed and clawed at the ground, begging for help, but the campers had stood there motionless. His blood had soaked half a mile of road while his entrails, staining the dirt for months, lay in bits and pieces all around. Stories had it that his restless soul, bounded to his body, was tormenting restlessly in the neck of the woods, pleading for travelers to save him in a ghastly and echoing voice. Annabeth shuddered at the image.

"Of course; you told me the story yourself when I'd first arrived," she said. "I had nightmares for weeks."

"Then you had better hope we find that the girl's brother intact or you'll find your dreams haunted once more. And don't give me that look will you?" Amy added almost exasperatedly, seeing the bothered look in Annabeth's eyes that screamed desperately 'without help'? "I do have some information that'd be of some use to you. Did you really think I'd send you out there without any help? I spoke with some of the missing camper's friends and the consensus is that he was one of the few with Percy—when the monsters broke in through the walls."

"Then I guess I should go then," Annabeth said. She pushed her plate away and motioned to a satyr to take it away. "Will you need anything else?"

She looked at Amy fully then—noticing the straightness of her friend's posture and the way she carried herself as if a general presiding over men. Yet, despite her calm demeanor and commanding voice, exhaustion undoubtedly wrought her face, creating an unsightly pallor. There was also, Annabeth thought, an oasis of sorrow foaming beneath the exterior. She looked far different than the person Annabeth had known two days ago. Amy spoke, breaking her thoughts:

"Actually, there is one thing I need to ask of you. I want you to take Percy." Annabeth felt her face grow warm, though she was sure was owed to the rising sun, which had fully emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon over the crest of the hillsides. "—and Nico," said Amy after a brief moment of hesitation. Was that pain Annabeth saw? "Take them both and dig up what you can about the poor girl's brother. Anything will suffice, so long as we solve the mystery of his disappearance."

Annabeth blinked. "So where are they?"

Amy looked surprised. "You can't expect me to know the location of everyone's whereabouts. I can hardly keep track of the time, much less keep a mental record of each person's activities in the camp. Just look around, though I'm sure they're bound to be practicing their swordsmanship in the fields. You know how those two are," she said, grinning, "always trying to prove themselves. Boys." Amy seemed to return to her younger self then—carefree and jubilant—but Annabeth knew that person was but a distant memory. She smiled and rose from her seat.

"I better find those two idiots before they wreck the whole place up. You can't imagine the damage they did before when you were away visiting mother—monstrous beasts those two are."

She turned to leave, but was held back when Amy spoke one last time, barely more audible than a whisper, "Take care of yourself will you? If anything happens to you I absolutely won't forgive myself—or those two boys. I'll drag you back from Hades myself if I have to." Annabeth felt the perturbation in Amy's voice, realizing then the immense toll leadership was having on her. She feels responsible for us now, whatever her feelings truly are. Annabeth felt a sudden crushing weight in her heart, which twisted as if a hand was gripping it violently and turning it like a doorknob.

"Don't you worry about me," she said, and then in her mind. Worry about yourself.


	2. The Three Musketeers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AN**: The plot is going to be thickening in the next few chapters. It will really take off and I'm really happy with how it's playing out. Hope you guys enjoy!

Annabeth found Percy exactly where Amy had said he would be. He stood in the swordsmen's ring, brandishing a one-handed sword. Sweat coated his brow, gleaming lambently in the sunlit sky. Opposite of him stood a familiar figure—Nico. In his hands rested a scythe, a weapon he'd embraced after realizing his lineage as a son of Hades. The scythe curved noxiously as if it craved for a taste of blood.

The pair faced each other, panting and stalking like predators along invisible lines that formed the rings to a vast circle. Suddenly, Percy sprung forward, his sword behind him like a flash of light. Sparks scattered. They sprayed across the ground as his blade connected with Nico's scythe. The metal of their blades screeched like fingernails on chalkboard. They locked against each other; Then, with an amazing display of force, Nico shoved and they broke apart. As Percy stumbled back, Nico whipped his scythe around, aiming straight for Percy's waist. It missed as Percy tumbled forward. His sword swung for a low blow—but was blocked mid-swing by Nico's firmly placed staff.

A smile danced on Nico's lips as he lunged forward.

Even from her distance Annabeth could glimpse the ferocity that shaped the boys' faces. They possessed something deadly—something that astonishingly continued to surprise her. But there was a hint of … excitement? They enjoyed the fight, even at times reveling in it. Watching them now, Annabeth recalled the first time they'd practiced together—her and Nico. He'd been much younger then, barely over ten. Annabeth recalled his struggle to hold a sword upright and had laughed at his mud-caked face when he'd fallen over during their training. Annabeth grinned. Nico was different now. He was older. Stronger. Faster. There would be no need for her to teach him anymore.

Her thoughts were broken by a breathless voice. "What the …"

Percy was panting heavily, his chest heaving as if he'd recently finished a marathon. His sword lay out of reach, just a few inches away from his fingertips. Hovering at his neck was Nico's scythe and standing over him was Nico, who was extending a hand.

"That's two to two," Nico said, smiling, the ebullience glistening in his eyes unmistakable. "Do you want to go another round?"

"Su—," Percy began, but stopped when he noticed Annabeth. "Hey, Annabeth!"

Nico's eyes flickered to Annabeth and held their gaze for a moment until Percy took his hand and was hoisted up.

"I came down to tell you guys that Amy—," Annabeth began. Nico's eyes seemed to glaze at the mention of the name. "—wants us to go looking for a girl's brother. He's been missing since the battle and no one's found his body yet. She wants us to check around in the forest nearby for him."

Annabeth paused for a moment, then continued. "But to be honest, I think it's a bit of a long shot."

Percy shrugged. "Won't know until we try, right? And don't get cocky just because you evened our score, Nico." He said, smiling and punching Nico in the shoulder, who shoved back with a large grin. Annabeth couldn't help but grin as well, unable to keep from remembering when their lives were simpler.

No, she corrected herself. Life had never been simple for them. Even now, the memories of the fleeting mortality fading from Luke's eyes as his hands fell limp from his own blade were still clear in` Annabeth's mind's eye. Blood gushed from underneath his arm, staining the floor a thick red. Tears had run down her face in troves as she gazed down on his frail crumpled form.

"Did you . . . did you love me?" Luke had croaked, with lips stained scarlet. Blue, inquisitive eyes implored her own—eyes that held a thousand questions that could not be answered in this lifetime.

"You were like a brother to me," she'd answered, truthfully.

Luke died after that. His peaceful pale face succumbing to time. Annabeth lay tearfully in bed that night, wondering how everything had just fallen apart so quickly—thinking that maybe—just maybe, by some absurd notion, that if she had kept Luke talking that he would still be alive. It killed her to think that way. Even if it wasn't fair to herself. Percy had told her so countless times afterward as they sat under the stars during sleepless nights. She remembered how he cradled her head in his arms as she cried—feeling the pain in her chest tighten and breathing thicken as silent tears poured incessantly down her cheeks. She remembered how the tears had soaked Percy's clothes—damp reminders of her sorrow. She remembered how the two of them sat, betwixt in a conjoined sorrow that ached for not just Luke, but for how frightening their lives had abruptly become—how lonely the world suddenly seemed to be when death was peering from around every corner. Waiting. Stalking callously and unremittingly.

". . . need some food and water since we're going to be out for a few days, right?" Percy's voice suddenly became intelligible.

Annabeth blinked, her mind scrambling to catch up to the conversation. "Yeah," she said. "But don't pack any oranges, got it? God, I hate them. They're too . . . too tangy." She shuddered at the thought of eating one.

Percy and Nico exchanged quick glances. Then, Nico, looking inordinately serious, said, "No, no. Of course not. I don't know why anyone would ever want to pack oranges. I mean they might just very well be like one of the most atrocious things to come around. Duh."

"Exactly!" Annabeth exclaimed. "Finally, someone who gets me!"

"I—If I can say something," Percy said, stepping forward in protest. His eyes bespoke spurious genuine concern. The look on his face made Annabeth guffaw.

"Me, personally," he said, continuing proudly and undeterred by Annabeth's fitful laughter. "I love oranges. We can take a few, right? I mean, I can just stuff them down the sides of my pockets or in my own bag. No, look, really! There's so many places I could put. You'd have to be actually insane if you're not willing to compromise with that! And, Nico, I don't know if you're as weird as Annabeth is," he said, turning to the Son of Hades, "but you'd have to be absolutely nuts to turn down a good orange. They're so good!"

Nico put a hand over his face, chuckling and massaging his brows exaggeratedly. "Look, for the love of the Gods, I don't really care. Orange, no oranges. Apples, no apples. We could eat shit for all I care. Kiss and get over it or something."

He walked over to his scythe and picked it up, frowning slightly as he became unusually interested in the scratches along the pole. "But," he added. "Annabeth you're pretty weird to be honest. Like really, you'd actually have to be nuts to hate oranges."

Annabeth laughed even harder. "I can't believe you guys, ganging up on me like that. It's so not fair."

"No, we're hilarious," Percy corrected her. "And unbelievable. And plus, how can you blame us? There's only three of us. In an argument, one of us is totally going to lose."

Percy took a few steps toward Annabeth, a smirk gracing his face. He stopped close to her. "I hope you're not a sore loser."

Annabeth rolled her eyes at that. Reaching out, she tussled Percy's hair. "Who's the sore loser who can't get over the fact that little Nico is keeping up with your scoring?"

Nico, who was still observing his scythe, looked up sharply then, eyes widening in an amalgamation of amusement and shock. It looked as if he was trying his hardest not to laugh. Between Percy's dumbfounded expression and ridiculous Nico's gawk, Annabeth couldn't help but burst out in laughter. It felt great to laugh.

"Let's go," she said, amidst the tears in her eyes. "L—Let's pack up." Her breathing came heavily as she gasped.

"Sure," Percy answered, putting a hand on her shoulder. Then, as if he were sharing a secret meant only for the three of them, "but only if you're bringing oranges."

Amy strode through the campground, taking note of the seemingly perpetual lingering damage. Campers who were able-bodied helped in reparations, motivated by the ominous threat of another looming attack. Several campers belonging to the house of Hermes were layering ponderous logs, creating a palisade over twenty feet high. The logs swayed slightly as the campers hoisted the logs up using a pulley system. Three campers heaved away at a thick rope. Another camper stood at the top of the palisade on a wooden platform, holding the log steady as it trekked its way up sluggishly. The four shouted inaudibly, fraternizing over positioning of the newest addition to their construction. Slightly further away, Amy glimpsed the half-naked muscular bodies of several male campers hacking away at fallen trees. Their sweat gleamed in the sun, twinkling like small bright stars. The sheen from the axes rose and fell with the monotony of their work.

She stopped in front of the main entrance to the camp. Once an inviting majesty and exuberance to the world, was now sealed away, fastened by a pair of colossal 8-inch thick wooden doors. Along the sides of the doors lay the framework for the foundation of conjoining palisade walls yet to be installed. Only from these gaps could foreigners observe the inner machinations of the camp. Earlier that morning, Amy had gathered the campers in rapport to discuss their situation. They had ubiquitously agreed upon enhancing the encampment's defenses. Too easily had the enemy broken through their bulwark, capturing the demigods within by surprise. If it wasn't for Percy's quick actions things would be much worse for them.

They really did a number on us, she thought. One of the cabins had been set aflame in the attack, killing two trapped girls, who had tried to hack their way out before succumbing to the incandescence, behind its collapsed doorway, . One of the girls had been one of Amy's acquaintances. Amy had interred what was left of the girl herself. She could still taste the scent of flames dancing on her lips. Amy's imagination ran wild with what had transpired there—how frightened their faces must have been as they realized that it was there that they would meet their end—trapped in a blazing inferno with no one to hold except one another.

It was horrendously poetic, Amy thought. She exhaled, looking down and closing her eyes. Her chest was taut, and yet it threatened to overflow with a flurry of emotions. A whirlwind of pains and enmities towards the shadow figure that loomed in the dark—conspiring to slaughter them from the shadows. Her fist tightened until her knuckles turned white with resolve.

Finally, after collecting herself, Amy pulled her gaze upward, where a few campers were assembling the last bits of the ramparts of the double-doored entrance. There was work to do. Soldiers needing outfitting. Armaments to refill. Swords to hone. Defenses to erect. She would work the campers twice as hard. No, thrice as hard. Their very survival was contingent on their effort. And damn it all if she was going to let another camper die to negligence. If they were going to die, they were going to die on the field in arms next to one another.

One final hurrah.

Amy smiled bitterly at that thought and turned to hike her way to the crest of the hill. Her thoughts meandered amidst the clamoring of hammers and twanging of drawstrings. Her grand scheme had been etched out and was beginning to mature to its fruition. Soon. Very soon, they would be impervious. A true haven for demigods would finally exist. A haven where no one would have to die. When she reached the peak of ridge, she surveyed the land around her.

It was close. The camp—no, bulwark. No, fortress, even—was very nearly complete circumvention. Though some gaps remained, Amy could see her vision for the camp in reaching realization. She felt a small sense of pride fill her heart. Blinking away from the grandeur, she called to a satyr.

"Can you bring me my daggers?"

The satyr hurried away to fetch her gear. Amy glanced down to her hands. For the most part, they still looked feminine, she thought bemusedly. Save for her thumbs, which were calloused where they gripped the hilts of her weapons tightly. The satyr returned with her weapons, unsheathed. Amy took them from him, feeling her fingers wrap around handles with familiarity. With a smile, she dashed down the slope towards the training field. If she was going to die, it was going to be among a hundred foes crowding among her like a wild horde of animals, gnawing away at her limbs.

There would be no finer death than that.

When she got to the training field she called out for three sparring partners. They came quickly, garbed in leather armor and tinkling helmets. Each soldier carried a large shield and different weapon—no doubt reflecting their specialty. The tallest of them all held a long eight-foot hoplite spear. He towered close to 7 feet, casting a shadow over Amy fully. In the left hand of the next soldier on the far right of Amy rested a thick broadsword. The sword stretched out almost four-feet. The tip of the blade rested on dirt. The last was simply armed, wielding only a gladius and two javelins.

Good, Amy mused, pleased. Sparring against different weapons prepared her best. The four of them jogged to the center of the field, where Amy broke off with the trio and took a side across from them. There was a moment of silence as she met their gazes. Nearby, a few campers had stopped what they were doing to spectate.

After a moment, Amy broke the deafening silence. "I want you all to attack me simultaneously."

Even with the three soldiers' helmets masking their faces fully, Amy could glimpse the surprise that flittered across their eyes. She smiled, not unkindly.

"I know we're sparring with real weapons. I just want to give you fair warning that I do intend to actually hurt you. You're going to get cut. But, I won't do anything too dangerous. Nothing that nectar can't heal, I mean."

She spun her daggers along her palms. Nothing felt better in her hands. Fighting with knives felt exhilarating. Nothing quite mimicked the intensity of being so close to her enemy—closeness where one single moment would decide who would stay standing, and who would be fallen. She'd trained with knives for as long as she could remember. They had become an extension of her. She considered them appendages even. Her left hand held the knife with an icepick grip while the other held it normally. She felt her hands tighten around them, scrunching the leather.

A few more breaths and she darted forward, keeping close to the ground. The other three dashed forward as well, the tallest soldier taking lead. He held his shield out in front with the spear in a reverse grip. If Amy could just get within range of him and limit the effectiveness of his long spear, she could—

Amy ducked quickly as the spear was thrusted forward toward her shoulder, but did not break pace. Her heart had skipped a beat and was starting to pick up speed—pounding away like a chorus of drums. She had not expected to be within his thrusting range.

Long arms. Amy grinned and rolled her eyes, proceeding to close the distance between their bodies. Another jab, searching for her left flank. Amy shifted slightly, pulling her shoulder back. The tip of the spear missed by a hair's breadth. She was within arm's reach now. The soldier, realizing the futility of his spear, reached for his holstered short sword. His spear clattered on the dirt. Amy saw his fingers wrap around the hilt sequentially in slow motion, as if playing a series of notes on a piano.

Everything happened so fast then. He slashed outward. Amy parried and locked it against her right hand. Her left hand, holding her knife in a reverse grip, came forward. With a quick slash, she severed a tendon in the camper's outstretched arms. Before he could react, she rolled forward, skirting a smartly thrown javelin in her direction. At the end of her roll both her knives sliced forward, lacerating at exposed calves.

The spearman fell to a knee, hamstrung. His sword arm dangled limply along his side. The small sword he held dangled unsteadily among enfeebled fingers. The remaining two campers rushed forward, attacking simultaneously, snarling. Their eyes blazing with fear and rage. Amy parried both attacks, but felt her guard waver against the weight of the broadsword. It was amazing that the camper was wielding the two-handed weapon with a single grip. Another flash, and Amy sidestepped to the left, feeling the large sword slashing down from over-head, embedding itself into the ground. Simultaneously, both her knives shot up, finding themselves pressed against a bind with a gladius. The steel from their weapons screeched, crying a cacophonous melody. The last camper stood in front of her. His blonde hair fell from along the linings of his helmet. His teeth gritted tightly.

With a shove, he pushed Amy back, their blades freeing once more. He charged forward, bellowing with his shield out in front. Amy retreated in response. Fighting against foes armed with large shields was incredibly frustrating. Without the reach of a longer weapon or a shield of her own, she could do nothing if they chose to stay turtled up like that. Attacking head on was suicide. Unlike her first opponent, who had panicked once she'd moved past his long reach and hastily drew his sword out in an aimless slash—making it easy for her to disable him—this camper was wary. He proceeded steadily. The shield continued to block most of his body. His arm was pulled back, knife ready at his right side. Behind him, the broadsword camper was jogging to catch up. The blade of the large sword dragged behind him along the soil.

He had reached her then—the camper with the gladius. With a sudden outcry, he dashed forward—his hunched form pressing its weight against the backside of his shield. His momentum was something Amy knew she couldn't withstand. She darted to the sides, trying to find an opening in his overextension, but each time she flanked him he turned around quickly—his bulwark moving to match her briefly after.

She had to act soon—before the broadsword could reach them. Amy dashed forward towards the shield. Her opponent steadied himself, his eyes unblinking. Then, as she reached him, she slid, feeling her momentum carry her across the arena. As she passed under his shield, he heaved downwards. The shield fell quickly, aimed to pinion her to certain doom. As it reached her, one of her hands shot up and punched the shield at its tip. It plunged into the earth above her head. The camper staggered forward slightly.

Amy saw it. Her opportunity. Her free hand shot out, dagger in hand. It sliced at his Achilles' tendon. Blood spilled from the gaping wound, pouring out into the bright brown dirt. The camper stumbled, falling forward, trying to get back up, but collapsed. He wriggled along the floor as he tried to heave himself up. Then, there was a crunch, and Amy, on her back, saw the shimmer broadsword falling onto her. Its blade sparkled gloriously as it fell. She quickly whipped her legs in a circular motion, whirl winding and hooking around the camper's waist. Her body followed afterwards—led by the motion that carried along her legs. Suddenly, she was off the ground—her body suspended by the grips on her legs as they increased her speed—spinning around the camper's body until she had made a full revolution around him. Her hands gripped around his neck and with the full force of her body still moving from her spin, heaved backwards. The two of them flipped over violently, with the camper on the bottom and slamming into the ground turbulently.

Dust spewed across the pair, making Amy cough. She wiped away sweat at her brow. The camper was coughing as well, he choked in gasping waves. His mouth gaped open, trying to suck in the precious air. Amy sat on his chest, her legs sandwiching along the sides of his face, which was taut with incredulity. Although she was panting slightly, she knew he was off much worse than her. Her maneuver had utilized the momentum of her slim body to wrap itself around the camper like a mortal coil, sling-shotting her like a rope about his body. The force his body endured when smashing into the ground had felt the weight of both her body and his body combined with the momentum that carried her around him. That maneuver alone was enough to singlehandedly disable opponents over thrice as large as Amy.

She got up quickly—her face flushed from suddenly realizing the somewhat provocative position she was in. Her hand reached out to pull the camper from the ground. When he took it, she heaved and brought him up. Her gaze shifted as well, taking in the spectacle around her. Throughout the course of the fight they had somehow shifted from the center of the arena—where the tall camper was still lying, breathing heavily—to the outskirts, where the rest of the group had ended up.

"Hey, you." Amy motioned to a girl standing along the sidelines. "Can you bring us some nectar? Get it to those two."

Amy motioned absentmindedly with a hand. It was obvious who needed nectar. She sauntered off the arena, grabbing hold of a water from a cooler near the benches.

It could have been better, Amy thought, scolding herself. I'm way too slow still. Those two would have definitely screwed me if I didn't split them apart. I need to be faster so I can take them both on at the same time.

She cleaned her daggers on a few rags that bordered along their large arena. The towels lapped up the blood up like ravenous wolves. When the daggers were clean, she dipped the blades into water and dried them off before sheathing them.

Her thoughts drifted back to Annabeth. Exhaling, she closed her eyes. Despite what she had told her best friend, sending the three of them off on a corpse party was not the only reason she had in mind. With Nico nearby, it would be impossible for her to think clearly. She needed calmness and celerity. Having him close to her made her chest ache painfully, so she sent him away. She loved him dearfully, despite their altercations. There was no one that could fill that void that he left behind.

She smiled a bittersweet smile at that thought. Who knew that the son of Hades would even be capable of filling that hole in her heart in the first place? But, she supposed that was what made her love him even more. It would have been so much easier for him to simply give in to his darkness—the primordial instincts that drove him to be Hades' son. That innate pulsing desire to allow himself to be consumed by the raw fire that kindled within. It would be so easy to tap into that power—to let himself be consumed by its incandescence in a flurry of stupefying and unfettered wonder. It would be so effortless to concede to the enmity within.

Sometimes Amy would try to live vicariously through Nico's eyes. She wanted to see what he saw. She wanted to feel what he felt. She wondered how hard it must be for him to struggle every day with his own being—forever tormented by the prison within him. Torn between life and death—the harbinger of doom. She knew from their talks that he hated himself for it. He hated the title. He hated death.

Why? He had plead to her with tears in his eyes once, a long time ago.

Why me? I hate . . . I hate this! WHY DID HE CHOOSE ME? He had bellowed crazedly, eyes wild with pain. Blood had streamed down from his chest where he had clawed at himself desperately in a deranged attempt to physically rend the rancor from his being. She cried with him then. Drawing him close to her and holding his head to her chest.

Everything is fine, she told him. I'll take care of you from now on, she had continued, with tears pouring down her face silently.

Let it all out.

A part of Nico had become her then. She felt it within her, and she knew Nico felt it as well. Afterwards, sometime later, he had gazed deep into her eyes—peering deep into her soul as if he could read her every thought—and kissed her softly. And with that one kiss, she could feel all his pain drain into her.

Share your pain with me. All of your burdens. Nico opened himself to her then, like a shell pried apart. His tears became sobs, coming like cascading waves until he was fully melded into her body, shaking with immeasurable sorrow. She held him like that for the rest of the night before taking him back to her bed, where she held him some more until he drifted off to sleep. The next weeks they grew together—sharing each other's beautiful pains—and began to forget their worries bit-by-bit. It was as they said: time healed all things. And for them, it couldn't have been truer. There were days where Amy thought she could find a smile dancing at the edge of Nico's lips. His eyes—once emanating coldness and perpetual sorrow—suddenly seemed to be alight with life. Laughter sprung from the twinkles in his eyes, filling Amy with unfathomable gratitude. Looking back now on his transformation Amy could find only blissful memories. She remembered when he smiled for the first time. Really smiled—not one of his fake ones. She had grabbed ahold of him then and spun him around, giggling madly when she noticed he himself did not even realize what was happening.

Dork! she had said, laughing and tapping his nose with her finger. Nico scrunched his nose goofily and crossed his eyes.

Look at you! Looking all happy and giddy, she said with a large grin. He'd held her face closely then, just like how he had when he first opened himself to her. His eyes had seemed so bright then—as if all the lights in the world suddenly belonged to him.

Amy bit her lip. Her eyes brimmed with water. She smiled sadly and wiped them away. Later. She would talk to him later. No argument in the world was worth losing him. It actually became funnier the more she thought about it—their petty argument. Taking a deep breath, Amy clambered her way back up to the crest of the hill.

She would see him off at the very least.

"Are you guys ready yet?" Annabeth shouted through the Poseidon cabin window. Almost immediately after, she heard clanging followed by muffled cursing.

"Nico, you dick!" Percy's laugh rang from within the cabin. There was more clanging. The front door suddenly burst open as two blurry figures raced down the steps. Annabeth peered from the side, trying to glimpse the boys. Nico had rushed out first, followed by a roaring Percy. The two of them sped around the field in front of the cabins with Percy chasing Nico. In Percy's right hand was a pair of pants that wielded as his trusty weapon against the mighty son of Hades. The chase ended when Percy leapt and tackled Nico to the ground. The two tussled around on the grass as Annabeth approached.

"Guys," she said, almost motherly. "Get your asses up! We have to leave! Oh, for gods' sake, Percy—can you imagine if Am—"

Annabeth cut herself short as she noticed Amy standing just a few feet away, arms crossed at her chest.

"Quickly," she whispered to the duo, who were still wrestling on the ground. "Quickly," she said again, more urgently, kicking aimlessly.

"Ow!" Nico exclaimed, looking up with a hurt look on his face. "What was that for?"

Annabeth nodded her head towards Amy. Nico and Percy scrambled to stand up, dusting themselves off sheepishly.

"I tell you to do one thing. One thing, and you start fooling around!" Amy's voice came out half amused, half exasperated. A grin pulled at the sides of her mouth. "Are you dorks at least ready to leave?"

"Absolutely ma'am," Percy responded, almost too quickly.

"Yes, ma'am," Nico said as well, straightening his back—almost too straight.

Amy glared at them suspiciously. "What are you guys doing?"

The pair exchanged innocent glances. "What?" They asked in unison. Annabeth buried her face in her hands, trying her hardest not to burst out laughing. The two of them were so stupid.

"Okay, can you guys not?" Amy said, slightly horrified. "Gods, I feel so weird when you say that. It's too . . . too formal."

She paused, frowning at the two grinning boys. "Don't ever call me that again, okay? I get chills every time you do. Amy. Amy," she said, pointing at herself.

It was then that Annabeth noticed something peculiar about Nico. Despite his composed exterior, there was a certain sadness that rounded his eyes when they glazed over Amy. Annabeth wondered at that—hoping for the best that perhaps she had mistaken it for misfortune—that everything was fine with Nico and Amy. Thinking about her own disastrous wreck made her wince in pain slightly.

They'll figure it out, she thought.

"Now," Amy said. "Are you guys ready? The sooner you guys leave and come back, the better."

"Pretty much," Percy remarked. "Gear, weapons, change of clothing, maps. Got everything here. Oh, wait. And this." Percy reached into his pocket and tossed something towards Annabeth, who caught it adroitly.

She looked down to see what it was. Bright orange gleamed in the afternoon sun. Her fingers brushed against an unwelcome roughness. Unable to keep her incredulity, she hurled it right back at him, yelling,

"Percy!" Who guffawed as it bounced off his side.

"Okay, then . . .," Amy said, looking slightly perturbed. "If you guys think you're good to go, then get out of here. Find the boy and bring him back, okay?"

"All right, Amy," Percy said. He gave her a hug, then continued. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Who do you think you're talking to? Come on." Amy's eyes then shifted to Nico, almost hesitantly. Annabeth stood to the side, gazing intently at the pair.

"Nico," Amy suddenly said, breathlessly, stepping quickly and closing the distance between them in a few steps. She captured him in an embrace and held him tightly. Her lips drew close to his ears and whispered something unintelligible. Amy's eyes twinkled with brightness.

Nico's eyes grew soft and he smiled. He kissed Amy on the forehead and gave her one last hug before going to join Percy. And then, suddenly, Annabeth found herself clasped in Amy's arms in a tight hug.

"Annabeth!" Amy's voice spilled out affectionately. "Stay safe. I'll miss you so much. Make sure you take care of those dorks, okay?"

Annabeth smiled warmly, feeling her arms tighten around her best friend. "I love you, Amy." The two of them stood there tightening their embrace as much as possible for what seemed like an eternity.

After they had all said their farewells one last time, Amy escorted them to the main. Her face was the last thing Annabeth saw before the doors closed shut behind them. Annabeth looked over to Percy and Nico, who were in the midst of a conversation about their favorite Greek warrior. It felt weird to be so normal with them—it had been too long since the three of them had been together in one place. It was a good feeling. She wished it could last forever. With warmness stirring in her heart, Annabeth beamed before bouncing into the guys' conversation.

"How can you guys not mention Hector? He's such a poetic warrior . . ."


	3. The Horrible Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AN**: Hey guys! I'm glad I got this chapter out! It was a little harder to write because most of it is exposition—but it was still fun nonetheless. I noticed that the text looks much better if you set the Story Width to ¾ instead of Full! It makes it look like it's formatted like an actual story instead of scrawled out onto a large page.

Amy slowly reached for her blades as a pair of red eyes glared out at her from within shadows. Cold sweat trickled down her brow as her fingers wrapped around the hilt. The eyes moved forward and from the shadows slinked a massive black wolf. Its mangy hide ran wild—hairs pointing haphazardly as if weathered from a mighty storm. The wolf's lips were pulled back in an ominous snarl, revealing razor-sharp fangs. Bloody teeth glistened in the bright moonlight like pearls dipped in red. They looked sharp enough to cut through metal. The wolf growled softly, prowling forward a step—then another. Its paws made a muffled noise against the wooden floors in Amy's cabin. Behind the wolf, Amy noticed something. A body? Pale legs protruded out from the shadows. Blood pooled around the corpse—clinging to the body's faded pallor and staining the floor with a sickening scarlet. There was so much blood. Amy's eyes darted around the room, looking for the other daughters of Athena.

Nothing but vacant cots. A deep primal fear panged within Amy's chest. Another step. The wolf was nearing the edge of her bed now. Amy shifted to a sitting position now, the cover of her blanket collapsing like a gentle wave. It fell in a mute pile on her lap. Frigid air suddenly swamped her bare body as she shivered in her night gown. The silence was killing her. It created an anticipation she never knew could exist. She wished that something—something would just rupture the incessant stillness in the air. Anything to draw the beast's attention away from her. Then, maybe—just maybe, she would have a chance. The upper hand. However, in the dead of night, Amy was alone.

She felt a steely resolve form within her—a flurry of emotions built upon a combination of fear and rage. A mixture that could only exist when was pressed back against a wall. Feeling braver, Amy pushed her thumb against the hilt of the dagger. It popped out, making a small sound. The wolf's low growl suddenly turned to a deafening snarl—its eyes suddenly wrought with an unbearable intensity. It pounced. Amy drew her dagger and thrusted.

The wolf's jaws opened wide. Her eyes shut closed with anticipation.

Then, nothing. Amy felt warmth spread across her face. She painted heavily, feeling her heart throbbing as if it was pumped full and was overflowing. Large, horrendous fangs froze still an inch away from her eyes. A rancid smell came from deeper within the gaping mouth. Amy exhaled shakily. The wolf slowly tilted and fell to its side—the brightness in its eyes fading. Amy's dagger was crimson. She wiped at her face. There was red everywhere. Shocked, Amy stumbled out of bed, tripping over her sheets. She was deathly cold all over. Her gaze turned to the corpse in the dark. Amy lurched slowly toward it.

The silence seemed even more deafening now. Amy could not shake the dread that had formed in her chest. It became worse as she neared the body. Her hands shook with anticipation. Her fingers wrapped around a leg and pulled. The body slid with a sickening squelch, leaving behind a trail of red. Amy gasped. Her heart froze. Ice flooded her veins like a sick poison. Her hand shot up to her mouth as she sank to the floor. Her other hand reached out to caress the corpse's face.

Nico. Amy felt tears brimming, threatening to overflow. But they did not come—fogging her vision with an opaque, watery film. He lay pale—white, even, amongst the full moon's splendor. His bare chest lay open to the air. Gory lesions painted his body in a shimmering warm layer as if one had splashed a bucket of paint across his body. Etched into his lifeless face was an eternal grimace—a pain not much different from the piercing gaze he had when she had first met him—devoid of emotion. It killed her to see him this way—the look on his face. It spoke a million words to her. She felt a horror creep over her like blanket. It sent chills down her back. Seeing Nico's face like this again stole her breath. Her chest hurt as if someone was gripping it tightly and squeezing. Why did he have to look like this? Why did he have to seem as if he were suddenly carrying the world's problems as his own? What happened to sharing these burdens with her? The face of the body she was staring at was not the Nico that loved her.

The coldness disappeared. Her hands warmed. Her face flushed. All of a sudden, she felt a rush of sorrow swarm her, overtaking her senses. A franticness took control of her body. She found herself shaking his body desperately. His head wobbled loosely.

"Nico?" Her voice came out pleadingly. "Nico. Please. Please."

Her hands fumbled clumsily across his face. "Nico," she sputtered. "S—Someone. Somebody! SOMEBODY! HELP!" Amy looked around frantically, hoping that by some miracle someone would show up with nectar in hand.

Hot tears rushed down her face uncontrollably as she began sobbing. Amy found herself rushing across the room toward the medicine cabinet. Her hands rattled inside the cabinet as medications fell from their shelves one-by-one like drops of rain in a raging storm. Her fingers clamped around rubbing alcohol and bandages. And then she was by Nico's side again, shakily pouring the alcohol across his body. It spilled along his stomach, washing the drying blood away. Her hands wiped at the blood with towels. There was so much everywhere. It just kept coming . . .

Her breaths came staggered. Her chest convulsed tightly.

"N—Nic—Nico," she stammered, struggling to get his name out between gasping. The mess on his body was getting worse. Scarlet streaks stained his body with every wipe.

A hand grabbed at her arm. Amy's head snapped upward. Dark-brown, lifeless eyes pierced into hers. Disheveled black hair lay matted across his forehead. His lips curled into a sickening smile. Shimmering red coated his teeth. Another hand pressed on Amy's back, bringing her forward to the face. Nico.

"Amy," he croaked. "You promised. You promised, Amy!"

Nico's hands clawed at Amy's clothes, pawing for her. A finger hooked around her collar, tearing her nightgown. She stumbled backwards. Nico got up and began stalking towards her, limping on his right leg. He was hunched over lightly, his left shoulder dipping forward.

"Amy," he wheezed. "Didn't you say my burdens were yours?"

Nico coughed, staggering against the bed. His head dropped as viscous liquid drooled from his lips. Amy's heart skipped a beat. His head snapped up like a whip, and he resumed stalking towards her. Amy took another step backwards, bumping into the wall behind her.

"Nico," she pleaded.

He took another step. "Share my burdens! Haha!" He cackled. His hands groped outwards, clinging to her shoulders as he heaved himself closer. He was close—so close she could feel him pressed up against her body. "I'm dead!"

He paused, then bared his teeth.

"How can you share my death?" He said, smiling insidiously.

Amy shot up in bed, her heart pounding. Her eyes raced across the room, glazing over the corner in the room Nico had cornered her. Around her dozed Athena's daughters. Moonlight spilled into the room from a top slit along the top of the cabin, casting a rectangular silver luminescence across the floor. Amy traced her collar with a finger, remembering the rip her gown had made when Nico clawed at her.

His eyes filled her mind devilishly. Red eyes stalked everywhere she looked. He laughed in the darkness—cackling a horrifying cackle. It pierced the still air. Amy pressed her palms to her ears.

It's not real. It's not real, she told herself. It was a dream. Just a dream. One stupid nightmare.

His laugh rang clearly in her ear. Her palms pushed in harder. Just a stupid dream.

"Amy," he whispered, almost whining. "Amy. Why did you let me die?" He's not real.

His voice grew harsher. "Why didn't you die for me? Did you . . . lie?"

"No," Amy whispered back. Nico . . .

"But, Amy," he said, the whining tone coming back almost sweetly. "I'm dead!"

"AND YOU!" His voice grew loud. "YOU ARE STILL ALIVE! WHY AM I DEAD? WHY DID YOU LET ME DIE? YOU BROKE IT! YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE, AMY!"

"No, Nico—that's not true. You're not—"

"WHAT?" His voice shook the cabin violently. "WHAT AM I? TELL ME!"

"Stop, Nico—please—"

"WHY AM I DEAD?" Glass shattered around her in a thunderous, terrifying cry. The moonlight turned an eerie mute red.

Amy shook her head fervently, biting back tears. "No. NO! Nico. Stop. STOP!" She closed her eyes tightly, wishing with all her might he would leave her alone. This wasn't him. This wasn't her Nico. The Nico she knew was kind. He would never be like this—not her Nico. This was something else—a demon—an incarnate evil. This could never be him. She waited for his screams—for him to shriek at him and tell him everything was her fault. For him to tell her that she'd needed to share in his death. She felt her palms press inwards so tightly that her ears burned, vacillating between deep soreness and sharp pain.

Silence.

Amy opened her eyes warily. Bright light flooded her. The moonlight dancing along the floor was gone—cast away by an overwhelming yellow. The cabin was aloof in a wonderful splendor—the shadows slinking back in defeat. The Athena-painted windows around still held up against the beautiful moon. Standing around her were her sisters, dressed in pajamas. Their faces were wrought with fear. Exhaustion tugged at their faces.

"Amy?" One girl asked, stepping forward and rubbing Amy's shoulders. "Are you okay? Christie saw everything—said you looked like you were talking to someone. Hell, I woke up to you yelling. Did something happen?"

Amy shook her head. Telling would only make things worse. "No," she said, flashing a small smile. "Just a bad dream."

The frown on the girl's face eased, but the concern in her eyes remained. "Some dream, huh?"

Christie came forward—the girl who had witnessed everything—the gray in her eyes studying Amy scrupulously. They scanned over her assiduously, who felt extremely naked and vulnerable under their scrutinizing gaze. Amy wondered how much Christie had heard—or seen—of her nightmare. The dream had bled into reality and Amy did not know just how much of it had been real. The voice had seemed so real—so close to her—as if it was within her. Amy flushed, suddenly realizing just how many conclusions one could possibly draw upon hearing her screaming another boy's name in the dark—telling him to stop. She replayed her words mentally: Nico. Stop. STOP!

Oh gods, she realized, in horror. Any sane person would have assumed she was—that they were—or at the very least Nico was . . . Amy turned scarlet at the thought of Nico pressed intimately against her, the heat of his skin coursing through her fingertips as she ran them along his muscular arms—their bodies entwined under bedsheets. Her heart pounded deafeningly. Well, that wasn't something she didn't want, at least. That much she knew. Feeling even more abashed, Amy suppressed the overwhelming desire to bury herself into a deep heap of blankets and remain there for the rest of the year.

Under a thin sheet. Yes, that sounded perfect. She could run the camp from there, too. Drawing plans. Planning the plans. Organizing food. Everything could be feasible with the right setup. She could even have satyrs bring in food and dine in. Yes, that sounded great—perfect, actually. That could work. The more Amy contemplated the notion the more appealing it became. But, a nagging voice in her head irritatingly reminded her that the end of the year was just around the corner, making cowering under the blankets not a very long enterprise. Or a very effective one at that—to which Amy thought of perhaps even extending into the next year.

What am I even thinking about? She thought bitterly. This whole thing is so ridiculous.

"You honestly scared the living shit out of me," Christie said, guffawing. Amy felt relief course through her veins as the scrutiny from Christie's piercing gaze lifted. "Can you imagine what I was thinking when you started going off like that? I was on my phone and everything—just relaxing—when you just started going at it. I didn't even hear what you were even talking about—spouting off nonsense like that. I legit thought you were getting exorcised or something. Like I was thinking to myself—what the hell do I do? Can you imagine if I ran to the restroom to get water to toss on you and it just started sizzling? I'd shit myself."

Everyone laughed, filling the room with a much-appreciated mirth.

"But yeah," Christine continued. "Shitty dream?"

"You won't believe it." Amy sighed, pulling her blankets up. Having the blankets cradling her made calmed her racing pulse. "I'm fine, really, guys. You're all the best. I'm sorry I woke you guys up for something so silly."

The girl who had spoken to her first—Liz—smiled warmly. Her hands gave Amy a tight squeeze. "Hey, it's not silly. We all have bad dreams. Let us know if you need anything?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Amy said, feeling better. She scrunched her nose.

"Honestly, if anything I thought it sounded like you were having a really good dream," Christie said, grinning mischievously and prodding her elbow at Amy's arms. The heat that had slowly begun dissipating from Amy's face suddenly flooded her cheeks again. Feeling her face glowing, she gripped her blankets and twisted them tightly, bringing them up to her lips.

"I—Uh," she sputtered, scrambling for words from behind her blanket. "It really wasn't—well, I mean there was nothing like—" They fell out clumsily, staggering over one another.

"Relax, Amy," Liz said, rolling her eyes. "Christie's just screwing with you. We know it wasn't anything like that. But, if it were," she continued, her voice drawling out. "Then someone's being really dirty." She winked slyly at Amy.

"Liz!" Amy exclaimed, betrayed. She began grabbing pillows and throwing them at Liz, who cowered mockingly under the ensuing barrage. Happy laughter flooded the cabin as Liz ran to the other side of the bed under the fire of fluffy pillows. Their confrontation ended when Amy threw her last pillow and pulled Liz close to her in a warm embrace.

"You guys are such assholes!" Amy said, breathlessly. "But you're wonderful assholes."

"Especially you," Amy continued, kissing the top of Liz's head before letting go. "Now," she added. "It's still really early. Let's go back to sleep?"

The girls nodded in agreement, smiles beaming from their faces. As they turned to leave, Christie's voice boomed from the end of the cabin—far from Amy's reaches.

"Sure—or, at the very least we know someone's going to sleep well."

Amy rolled her eyes as the girls broke into a roaring, yet mellifluous laughter—their levity sonorous amongst the cabin's thick walls.

"I don't know how I deal with you guys," she said, grabbing ahold of her sheets and turning over.

The sound of birds chirping gently lulled Annabeth out of her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the pulchritudinous forest. Hazy yellow light spread across the forest clearing, bounding off the wild, vibrant vegetation. Around her stretched tall trees, spanning to the sky as if reaching up to touch the heavens. Cool, crisp air chilled Annabeth's body as she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with a harmonious freshness. It was nice here in the forest—far away from the busy streets of New York and Camp Half-Blood, which awoke in cacophony every sunrise and cradled the sun in a loving embrace every evening until disappearing over the edge of the world to be renewed every twilight like clockwork. She yawned as she stretched—arcing her body as she felt the muscles on her body pull taut, and then loosen.

Warmness flooded her body as she sprawled back onto the grass, closing her eyes and feeling the soft grass coddle her unrequitedly. A fly buzzed near her ear. She slapped it away.

I guess not even nature can be perfect, she thought to herself.

"Mornin' sleepy," a voice called from over her. She opened her eyes to find Percy standing over her, his gaze peering down from above like a towering titan. He wore a white V-neck t-shirt and black jeans that cuffed around his ankle. His hair was in a mess as if he had been running a hand through his hair. "'bout time you woke up."

Annabeth exhaled. Feeling the air passing through her body felt soothing. "Stop. You're ruining the vibe."

Yawning again, she asked, "how long have you been up?"

"About an hour or so," Percy answered. "I'm a bit of an early bird."

I know, Annabeth recalled. She colored at her familiarity with that detail. "What time is it?" She asked.

"Eight. Hey, Nico's still knocked out. We can screw with him if you want—the guy's a pretty deep sleeper."

Annabeth couldn't help but smile at the thought of a bewildered Nico—disheveled hair and all—waking up to find all his belongings missing along with his companions. The ensuing chaos would be well worth the chance to prank the son of Hades, who had apparently self-proclaimed it his life's enterprise to plague her life with incessant antics. She recalled the time that he had not only reversed the labels for hot and cold on her shower, but also replaced the entire knob so it would only work if she pulled on the knob instead of pushing it in.

She had spent the following minutes naked, attempting to procure water from the spout—only to vacillate between freezing and scalding when it finally began spraying spurts of water. She remembered the look on Nico's face when she exited the shower in her towel. He had been sitting on her bed, his face etched with the silliest look she had ever seen. Percy had been there, too—a co-conspirator to an unforgivable crime—barely able to conceal a smirk.

But, as much as she wanted to see the priceless look on Nico's face upon finding himself utterly alone in the middle of nowhere—a prize she would gladly treasure forever—Annabeth knew there was a more important matter that demanded her utmost attention. A girl's brother life was at stake—if he was even alive. Annabeth had held her tongue when Amy first told her of the girl's request, not wanting to condemn the girl's brother to certain abandonment. If he was alive and Annabeth doomed his rescue, it alone would be her perpetual burden to bear. So, here she was, searching through the woods on some expeditionary rescue team alongside her best friends.

And it was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time.

"No," she said, biting her lip and bumping Percy's leg reproachfully. "We're not on vacation or something, dummy."

Percy sighed. "You're right," he said, disappointment clouding his face. "But promise me we'll get him. Promise. That asshole got me good yesterday and I've just been thinking of so many ways to get him back."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I promise to be a part of your little stupid prank war," she said, unable to keep herself from grinning. Percy laughed, coming around to her front and holding his hand out for her to take it. When she did, he pulled her up.

"There's still hope for you yet, Annabeth," he said laughing. She rolled her eyes again.

"Let's just go wake that lazy ass up," she said, circling around a tree and finding Nico flopped face-down on the other side. His mouth was ajar. A blade of grass waved like the ebb and flow of a tide with his every breath. His black shirt was rumpled heavily—slightly pushed up and revealing his backside. Even with just the side of his face visible to her, Annabeth could gleam a glimpse of the young demigod's vulnerability that nestled inside him. Despite his trials and horrors, he would always shelter that softness in him.

At least, Annabeth hoped so. The three of them had suffered through countless ordeals together. And though they had overcome all obstacles, Annabeth felt that the challenges had been chipping away at her's and Percy's innocence like marble statues under interminable chiseling. Years of death and fighting had taken its toll on the pair of them—yet none of it seemed to trouble Nico in the slightest. She wondered if it was due to his lineage. Perhaps the son of the dead could not feel the same type of remorse she and Percy felt. It was his duty, after all, to ensure the dead stayed dead and the living prepared for the afterlife.

But, no—that couldn't be it. Nico disregarded duty when it came to Percy. When it came to friends. What he did for Percy irrevocably that he cared for his friends. That he was even willing to betray who he was at his very core to safeguard those he loved from harm. His camaraderie was undeniable. No one could refuse him that honor.

However, it was exactly because of his actions that Annabeth worried about him so. It wasn't natural for a demigod of his nature to rebel against a natural tendency. Nico existed for the sole purpose of enforcing the rules that governed the living from the dead. He ensured that the world remained harmonious—at peace with itself—amidst the chaotic humdrum of life. The one entity that ensured a consistency in a world where anarchy ran rampant in all corners of the world. And the fact that he broke this sacred covenant, therefore disrupting the balance of the entire world, frightened Annabeth. There was no way Nico could be at peace when he had knowingly shattered the foundations of his existence. Somewhere, deep down inside, Annabeth felt an insufferable apprehension frothing. It stewed with anticipation, lurching in her stomach. She'd never given Percy's return much reflection—having been overjoyed with seeing him standing in front of her. Living, breathing. Warm. Her Percy. Despite his faded memories, he was still the Percy she knew. His laugh. His jokes. The seriousness that shone in his eyes when people were in danger. They were all him.

And so, she'd never given it a second thought—thinking that she would be taking him for granted if she did. But, for some odd reason Annabeth found herself suddenly musing over the minutiae of Percy's return from the dead. If there was one thing she was certain about the Greek world they lived in it was that nothing was ever given for free. All things came at a price. And the price for bringing a loved one back from the dead? Annabeth shuddered at the thought of it and hoped with the entirety of her soul that it did not take a terrible toll on Nico.

She bent down, her hands resting on her knees. Then, with a hand, she reached out and prodded Nico with a finger. "Nico?" She asked quietly. She shook his shoulder. Nico muttered something unintelligible.

"Nico?" She asked again, a little louder. Nico moaned, flipping over onto his back.

"Amy . . .," he muttered, swatting at her leg. Annabeth smiled.

"No, it's me. Annabeth," she corrected, nudging him again. "Nico?"

"Oh, for gods' sake," Percy groaned. "Kick him or something. He's literally dead in his sleep. Get it? Because he's the son of the dead?"

Annabeth put a hand to her forehead as if she'd suddenly experiencing a severe migraine. She smiled in spite of herself. Stupid Percy.

"You know," she said, sighing, her voice reverberating with mock disappointment. "You haven't actually said something that bad in a really, really long time. That was actually just facepalm worthy."

"Was it?" Percy said, proudly. "I thought it was a pretty clever joke."

"Percy, that was fucking horrible," Nico muttered abruptly. "It was so fucking bad that I woke up to it."

Annabeth and Percy looked at each other in shock and erupted into howls of laughter. Percy, who was leaned against the trunk of a tree, slouched up against it as his legs gave out. Annabeth, who had already fallen onto the ground, reached out to rub Nico's shoulder as if to ply him with appreciation of his well-timed riposte. Her eyes brimmed with tears as her stomach continued to convulse in troves. The pair of them went on for a long time until they lay their—each on the ground—panting heavily as Nico stood.

"Honestly, you two are ridiculous. Can't a guy get a good rest?" He said, bitterly. "We've been walking for ages my feet are starting to hurt."

"Oh, quit your crying," Percy managed between breaths. "You've been sleeping for ages. Any more and poor Prometheus is going to have to go through his liver twice before you wake up."

Percy stood, leaning up against the tree for support. He exhaled deeply, still chuckling mid-breath, then said, "Anyways, we've gotta find that kid before—"

A twig snapped nearby. The three of them turned their heads sharply to the source. It had come from somewhere beyond a cluster of dense brushes, far out of sight. The mirth in the air dissipated as if sucked away to another world.

"Stay here," Annabeth said quietly, fingering her sword. She crept forward slowly, staying close to the ground like a predator stalking its prey. Her breaths came silently through her mouth as it lay ajar. Annabeth neared the first brush and pushed it aside with her freehand and proceeded warily. The frail branches on the brush crackled as she pushed through them. She felt Nico and Percy following closely behind.

Then, as Annabeth neared a thicker hedge, she spied a dark shape tussling on the floor. An animal? She couldn't tell. It cradled back and forth like a newborn. Taking another step forward, Annabeth brushed aside the branches and peered more closely—finally able to observe it clearly. Dark, muted blue eyes pierced into her own as the shape turned to face her. It screeched loudly and stood. It was taller than Annabeth by at least a few inches. Gashes ran down along its side, but no blood streamed from the gaping wounds.

No, Annabeth thought. That's not right.

It was the camper—Harry, the one they had been searching for—in a mangled mess. Harry's grimy brown hair clung to his forehead as he swayed back and forth intoxicatedly. His clothes glued to his body in tattered remains as if he had been mauled by a wild beast. Mud clung to his arms and legs, caking as it basked in the warm morning sunlight. He looked like nothing Annabeth had ever seen before. It was as if something primordial had consumed him. There was a rabid aura about him. Annabeth felt there nothing more he wanted than to tear her apart limb from limb.

"Back!" Annabeth yelled, stumbling backwards out of the hedges. "Back up!"

In a flash, Harry leaped forward inhumanely, propelling himself over the hedge-line. Annabeth fell back quickly alongside Percy and Nico. The three of them stood apart from one another evenly—Annabeth between Nico and Percy, who stood on her left and right. They backtracked slowly as Harry began advancing methodically. He panted heavily as if out of breath.

"What do we do?" Percy growled, sword in hand. "Do we kill him?"

"He looks as good as dead," Nico joked, though his face was tightened in a worrisome grimace. "Why don't I do my job for once and kill him?"

"No," Annabeth said, unsheathing her sword. Its sheen glared brightly into her eyes for a brief moment as it caught ahold of daylight. She held it steady in her right hand. Sweat trickled down her face as Harry stalked his way forward, pushing them back into a grove circumscribing a spacious clearing. Light here was the brightest, casting the world in a flourish of dazzling beauty. Harry looked oddly out of place as he stepped into the clearing with them—the darkness around him bubbling like an invisible shield.

"We've gotta bring him back to Amy," Annabeth continued. "I've never seen anything like this before. She's going to want to know why this happened."

"Are you volunteering, then, Annabeth?" Nico said, facetiously. "He looks likes you the best. I would volunteer, but I don't have boobs—and I'm pretty sure he's into that sort of thing."

"You know I can take him," she said, breathlessly. Her eyes remained fixated on the hulking Harry, who almost seemed rapt with a bloodlust fervor. "I—"

Harry exploded in a sprint, closing the distance before she could finish. He was much faster than she had anticipated. His hands wrapped around a stained hilt near his waist and swung outward. The sword resonated mellifluously as it connected with Annabeth's blade. Her blade faltered, and their blades followed through to their sides. Sparks scattered into the grass. For a moment, Annabeth was stunned by the amount of force pressed up against her blade. Her teeth gritted as she swung upward to block his next swing—redirecting it so that their blades ended up to the sides again. She'd never felt such ferocity from a foe before. Percy and Nico, yes, but never from an adversary. Her sword felt extraordinarily sluggish compared to Harry's agile barrage. She was barely able to defend against the next attack again—feeling the weight of his attacks forcing her to secede ground.

Roars erupted from her sides as Nico and Percy raced forward, slashing at Harry's limbs. Blood sprayed across flowers as their blades connected with flesh. Harry growled menacingly, backhanding Nico with the pummel of his sword and then stabbing smartly at Percy's direction. Percy rolled behind Harry and swung his sword, lacerating Harry's back. Nico, who had stumbled backwards from Harry's blow and was bleeding from his nose, grabbed at Harry's shoulder and punched him in the face. The noise made a sickening crunch as his knuckles connected with cheekbone. Harry staggered to the side.

Annabeth took her opportunity and darted forward, swinging her sword upward. The blow connected with Harry's blade—but before he could recover, Annabeth followed with another upward blow from the other side. Harry stumbled backwards as he leaned back to dodge the blow. Following through with her momentum, Annabeth continued her fusillade—striking from above this time. Harry held his sword out to block it—crumbling to the ground under the force of her blow and his wounds. His sword shot out of his hands under the pressure of the attack, clattering mutely on the grass. Annabeth's left hand shot out, connecting with his face.

Harry fell back onto the floor—his ragged breathing convulsing as blood clotted around his mouth.

"Fucker," Nico retorted, spitting out blood. "I thought for sure Percy and I had him when we both got him. But he took it like a champ and wrecked me."

A stony-faced Percy came up from Nico's side. "We're lucky there were three of us. I think if I had to fight him alone he'd be pretty hard."

Annabeth remained wordless—consumed by the sight that lay before her. What had made Harry this way? The darkness around him remained unchanged. Even now, he still looked like a rabid animal that had ventured out from the forest. A subdued wild animal, she thought. Yes, that was what described him best. There was something feral about the Harry that lay before her. It troubled her—gnawing at her chest with deadly trepidation as he wormed on the ground, soaking the ground in a disgusting crimson.

"Let's tie him up and get him back to camp," she said finally. "Amy will know what to do with him."

"At least he's not dead," Percy said.

"I'm not sure if this is much better than death," Nico muttered, wiping at his nose. "I don't even know what to call this. It's like the original Harry was replaced by a demon or something."

Annabeth shrugged. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we'll be able to find some sort of record about this in our libraries."

She knelt down beside Harry, reaching into a pouch attached to her belt. Her fingers found rope and began tying his hands together.

"There," she said, standing up. "Now we can take him back to camp. Now, which one of you boys want to carry him?"

Percy and Nico exchanged glances.

"Since you got hit in the face, I think I should probably start?" Percy offered, shrugging. Nico laughed, slapping Percy on the back.

"Keep this up, and I don't think I would mind getting hit in the face every once in a while," Nico said, grinning.

Percy rolled his eyes and hoisted Harry over his shoulders, who started slamming his tied hands together into Percy's back.

"Annabeth," Percy said, sighing. A slight impatience tinged in his voice. "Give him a little love tap for me? Pretty ungrateful for having someone carry him all the way back. If I were him, I'd kiss me."

"Sure," she said, coming around to Percy's backside. Her hand, still holding her sword, came up and pommeled Harry along the cheekbones. She didn't hit hard, but in that moment, she knew Harry had felt her resolve behind the blow—silent words spoken so simply put that even someone like Harry could understand. He stopped squirming and fell quiet. His darkened blue-eyes glared with an ominous resolution as if promising her that their fight had yet to conclude. She returned the gaze—a mute agreement between two rivals.

Percy sighed, with relief this time. "You're a blessing, Annabeth," he said. She rolled her eyes as if he had stated the most obvious fact in the world. "I think we can get back to camp by tomorrow night if we keep a steady pace."

"If you can keep up," Nico said, tauntingly. His dark eyes playfully teased the son of Poseidon. "Gods know you've getting a little chubby. Might even have to take a few food breaks."

"Shut up," Percy said, laughing. "Keep talking and I'm going to make you carry him."

"You're as strong as Hercules," Nico said, abruptly reneging on his remark. "—no, stronger even. Or do you want to be Odysseus?"

"Okay, smartass," Percy guffawed, shoving Nico to the side. He readjusted the dangling Harry on his shoulder. "Let's head out?"

"Sounds good to me," Annabeth answered, looking to Nico, who shrugged in agreement. Annabeth reached out and ruffled Percy's hair before walking past him, leading the way. She pushed past some brushes to find the main dirt road they had traveled on the day before. The road spanned across the expansive forest, snaking over miles of green land before ending abruptly at the edge of a cliff at the forest's fringe. They had spent the previous day trekking for over twelve hours—abandoning the trail often to venture deep into the unknowns of the thicket beyond—areas that would remain perennially unmapped. They stuck close to one another, however, to avoid losing each other amidst the sprawling vegetation that seemed to claw outward as if to capture its poor victims in a mortal embrace.

Annabeth stopped at a tree closest to the road and scanned it before finding an etch she had made previously, which pointed in the direction of Camp Half-Blood.

"This way," she said, shouldering a knapsack that lay at the base of the trunk. She shrugged into it and tightened at its drawstrings. Percy and Nico followed shortly after, their equipment clanging with each step.

"Let's go?" Annabeth asked again, after a moment, glancing to find both of her friends flanking her sides. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew her question bespoke of the future. She couldn't help but feel a strange apprehension tugging at her chest, as if warning her of the hardships that had yet to pass. Feeling Percy's and Nico's wordless agreement, she snugged into her knapsack a final time and stepped forward—leading them on the snaking path that would guide them home.


	4. The Horrible Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AN**: Hey guys! I'm glad I got this chapter out! It was a little harder to write because most of it is exposition—but it was still fun nonetheless. I noticed that the text looks much better if you set the Story Width to ¾ instead of Full! It makes it look like it's formatted like an actual story instead of scrawled out onto a large page.

Amy slowly reached for her blades as a pair of red eyes glared out at her from within shadows. Cold sweat trickled down her brow as her fingers wrapped around the hilt. The eyes moved forward and from the shadows slinked a massive black wolf. Its mangy hide ran wild—hairs pointing haphazardly as if weathered from a mighty storm. The wolf's lips were pulled back in an ominous snarl, revealing razor-sharp fangs. Bloody teeth glistened in the bright moonlight like pearls dipped in red. They looked sharp enough to cut through metal. The wolf growled softly, prowling forward a step—then another. Its paws made a muffled noise against the wooden floors in Amy's cabin. Behind the wolf, Amy noticed something. A body? Pale legs protruded out from the shadows. Blood pooled around the corpse—clinging to the body's faded pallor and staining the floor with a sickening scarlet. There was so much blood. Amy's eyes darted around the room, looking for the other daughters of Athena.

Nothing but vacant cots. A deep primal fear panged within Amy's chest. Another step. The wolf was nearing the edge of her bed now. Amy shifted to a sitting position now, the cover of her blanket collapsing like a gentle wave. It fell in a mute pile on her lap. Frigid air suddenly swamped her bare body as she shivered in her night gown. The silence was killing her. It created an anticipation she never knew could exist. She wished that something—something would just rupture the incessant stillness in the air. Anything to draw the beast's attention away from her. Then, maybe—just maybe, she would have a chance. The upper hand. However, in the dead of night, Amy was alone.

She felt a steely resolve form within her—a flurry of emotions built upon a combination of fear and rage. A mixture that could only exist when was pressed back against a wall. Feeling braver, Amy pushed her thumb against the hilt of the dagger. It popped out, making a small sound. The wolf's low growl suddenly turned to a deafening snarl—its eyes suddenly wrought with an unbearable intensity. It pounced. Amy drew her dagger and thrusted.

The wolf's jaws opened wide. Her eyes shut closed with anticipation.

Then, nothing. Amy felt warmth spread across her face. She painted heavily, feeling her heart throbbing as if it was pumped full and was overflowing. Large, horrendous fangs froze still an inch away from her eyes. A rancid smell came from deeper within the gaping mouth. Amy exhaled shakily. The wolf slowly tilted and fell to its side—the brightness in its eyes fading. Amy's dagger was crimson. She wiped at her face. There was red everywhere. Shocked, Amy stumbled out of bed, tripping over her sheets. She was deathly cold all over. Her gaze turned to the corpse in the dark. Amy lurched slowly toward it.

The silence seemed even more deafening now. Amy could not shake the dread that had formed in her chest. It became worse as she neared the body. Her hands shook with anticipation. Her fingers wrapped around a leg and pulled. The body slid with a sickening squelch, leaving behind a trail of red. Amy gasped. Her heart froze. Ice flooded her veins like a sick poison. Her hand shot up to her mouth as she sank to the floor. Her other hand reached out to caress the corpse's face.

Nico. Amy felt tears brimming, threatening to overflow. But they did not come—fogging her vision with an opaque, watery film. He lay pale—white, even, amongst the full moon's splendor. His bare chest lay open to the air. Gory lesions painted his body in a shimmering warm layer as if one had splashed a bucket of paint across his body. Etched into his lifeless face was an eternal grimace—a pain not much different from the piercing gaze he had when she had first met him—devoid of emotion. It killed her to see him this way—the look on his face. It spoke a million words to her. She felt a horror creep over her like blanket. It sent chills down her back. Seeing Nico's face like this again stole her breath. Her chest hurt as if someone was gripping it tightly and squeezing. Why did he have to look like this? Why did he have to seem as if he were suddenly carrying the world's problems as his own? What happened to sharing these burdens with her? The face of the body she was staring at was not the Nico that loved her.

The coldness disappeared. Her hands warmed. Her face flushed. All of a sudden, she felt a rush of sorrow swarm her, overtaking her senses. A franticness took control of her body. She found herself shaking his body desperately. His head wobbled loosely.

"Nico?" Her voice came out pleadingly. "Nico. Please. Please."

Her hands fumbled clumsily across his face. "Nico," she sputtered. "S—Someone. Somebody! SOMEBODY! HELP!" Amy looked around frantically, hoping that by some miracle someone would show up with nectar in hand.

Hot tears rushed down her face uncontrollably as she began sobbing. Amy found herself rushing across the room toward the medicine cabinet. Her hands rattled inside the cabinet as medications fell from their shelves one-by-one like drops of rain in a raging storm. Her fingers clamped around rubbing alcohol and bandages. And then she was by Nico's side again, shakily pouring the alcohol across his body. It spilled along his stomach, washing the drying blood away. Her hands wiped at the blood with towels. There was so much everywhere. It just kept coming . . .

Her breaths came staggered. Her chest convulsed tightly.

"N—Nic—Nico," she stammered, struggling to get his name out between gasping. The mess on his body was getting worse. Scarlet streaks stained his body with every wipe.

A hand grabbed at her arm. Amy's head snapped upward. Dark-brown, lifeless eyes pierced into hers. Disheveled black hair lay matted across his forehead. His lips curled into a sickening smile. Shimmering red coated his teeth. Another hand pressed on Amy's back, bringing her forward to the face. Nico.

"Amy," he croaked. "You promised. You promised, Amy!"

Nico's hands clawed at Amy's clothes, pawing for her. A finger hooked around her collar, tearing her nightgown. She stumbled backwards. Nico got up and began stalking towards her, limping on his right leg. He was hunched over lightly, his left shoulder dipping forward.

"Amy," he wheezed. "Didn't you say my burdens were yours?"

Nico coughed, staggering against the bed. His head dropped as viscous liquid drooled from his lips. Amy's heart skipped a beat. His head snapped up like a whip, and he resumed stalking towards her. Amy took another step backwards, bumping into the wall behind her.

"Nico," she pleaded.

He took another step. "Share my burdens! Haha!" He cackled. His hands groped outwards, clinging to her shoulders as he heaved himself closer. He was close—so close she could feel him pressed up against her body. "I'm dead!"

He paused, then bared his teeth.

"How can you share my death?" He said, smiling insidiously.

Amy shot up in bed, her heart pounding. Her eyes raced across the room, glazing over the corner in the room Nico had cornered her. Around her dozed Athena's daughters. Moonlight spilled into the room from a top slit along the top of the cabin, casting a rectangular silver luminescence across the floor. Amy traced her collar with a finger, remembering the rip her gown had made when Nico clawed at her.

His eyes filled her mind devilishly. Red eyes stalked everywhere she looked. He laughed in the darkness—cackling a horrifying cackle. It pierced the still air. Amy pressed her palms to her ears.

It's not real. It's not real, she told herself. It was a dream. Just a dream. One stupid nightmare.

His laugh rang clearly in her ear. Her palms pushed in harder. Just a stupid dream.

"Amy," he whispered, almost whining. "Amy. Why did you let me die?" He's not real.

His voice grew harsher. "Why didn't you die for me? Did you . . . lie?"

"No," Amy whispered back. Nico . . .

"But, Amy," he said, the whining tone coming back almost sweetly. "I'm dead!"

"AND YOU!" His voice grew loud. "YOU ARE STILL ALIVE! WHY AM I DEAD? WHY DID YOU LET ME DIE? YOU BROKE IT! YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE, AMY!"

"No, Nico—that's not true. You're not—"

"WHAT?" His voice shook the cabin violently. "WHAT AM I? TELL ME!"

"Stop, Nico—please—"

"WHY AM I DEAD?" Glass shattered around her in a thunderous, terrifying cry. The moonlight turned an eerie mute red.

Amy shook her head fervently, biting back tears. "No. NO! Nico. Stop. STOP!" She closed her eyes tightly, wishing with all her might he would leave her alone. This wasn't him. This wasn't her Nico. The Nico she knew was kind. He would never be like this—not her Nico. This was something else—a demon—an incarnate evil. This could never be him. She waited for his screams—for him to shriek at him and tell him everything was her fault. For him to tell her that she'd needed to share in his death. She felt her palms press inwards so tightly that her ears burned, vacillating between deep soreness and sharp pain.

Silence.

Amy opened her eyes warily. Bright light flooded her. The moonlight dancing along the floor was gone—cast away by an overwhelming yellow. The cabin was aloof in a wonderful splendor—the shadows slinking back in defeat. The Athena-painted windows around still held up against the beautiful moon. Standing around her were her sisters, dressed in pajamas. Their faces were wrought with fear. Exhaustion tugged at their faces.

"Amy?" One girl asked, stepping forward and rubbing Amy's shoulders. "Are you okay? Christie saw everything—said you looked like you were talking to someone. Hell, I woke up to you yelling. Did something happen?"

Amy shook her head. Telling would only make things worse. "No," she said, flashing a small smile. "Just a bad dream."

The frown on the girl's face eased, but the concern in her eyes remained. "Some dream, huh?"

Christie came forward—the girl who had witnessed everything—the gray in her eyes studying Amy scrupulously. They scanned over her assiduously, who felt extremely naked and vulnerable under their scrutinizing gaze. Amy wondered how much Christie had heard—or seen—of her nightmare. The dream had bled into reality and Amy did not know just how much of it had been real. The voice had seemed so real—so close to her—as if it was within her. Amy flushed, suddenly realizing just how many conclusions one could possibly draw upon hearing her screaming another boy's name in the dark—telling him to stop. She replayed her words mentally: Nico. Stop. STOP!

Oh gods, she realized, in horror. Any sane person would have assumed she was—that they were—or at the very least Nico was . . . Amy turned scarlet at the thought of Nico pressed intimately against her, the heat of his skin coursing through her fingertips as she ran them along his muscular arms—their bodies entwined under bedsheets. Her heart pounded deafeningly. Well, that wasn't something she didn't want, at least. That much she knew. Feeling even more abashed, Amy suppressed the overwhelming desire to bury herself into a deep heap of blankets and remain there for the rest of the year.

Under a thin sheet. Yes, that sounded perfect. She could run the camp from there, too. Drawing plans. Planning the plans. Organizing food. Everything could be feasible with the right setup. She could even have satyrs bring in food and dine in. Yes, that sounded great—perfect, actually. That could work. The more Amy contemplated the notion the more appealing it became. But, a nagging voice in her head irritatingly reminded her that the end of the year was just around the corner, making cowering under the blankets not a very long enterprise. Or a very effective one at that—to which Amy thought of perhaps even extending into the next year.

What am I even thinking about? She thought bitterly. This whole thing is so ridiculous.

"You honestly scared the living shit out of me," Christie said, guffawing. Amy felt relief course through her veins as the scrutiny from Christie's piercing gaze lifted. "Can you imagine what I was thinking when you started going off like that? I was on my phone and everything—just relaxing—when you just started going at it. I didn't even hear what you were even talking about—spouting off nonsense like that. I legit thought you were getting exorcised or something. Like I was thinking to myself—what the hell do I do? Can you imagine if I ran to the restroom to get water to toss on you and it just started sizzling? I'd shit myself."

Everyone laughed, filling the room with a much-appreciated mirth.

"But yeah," Christine continued. "Shitty dream?"

"You won't believe it." Amy sighed, pulling her blankets up. Having the blankets cradling her made calmed her racing pulse. "I'm fine, really, guys. You're all the best. I'm sorry I woke you guys up for something so silly."

The girl who had spoken to her first—Liz—smiled warmly. Her hands gave Amy a tight squeeze. "Hey, it's not silly. We all have bad dreams. Let us know if you need anything?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Amy said, feeling better. She scrunched her nose.

"Honestly, if anything I thought it sounded like you were having a really good dream," Christie said, grinning mischievously and prodding her elbow at Amy's arms. The heat that had slowly begun dissipating from Amy's face suddenly flooded her cheeks again. Feeling her face glowing, she gripped her blankets and twisted them tightly, bringing them up to her lips.

"I—Uh," she sputtered, scrambling for words from behind her blanket. "It really wasn't—well, I mean there was nothing like—" They fell out clumsily, staggering over one another.

"Relax, Amy," Liz said, rolling her eyes. "Christie's just screwing with you. We know it wasn't anything like that. But, if it were," she continued, her voice drawling out. "Then someone's being really dirty." She winked slyly at Amy.

"Liz!" Amy exclaimed, betrayed. She began grabbing pillows and throwing them at Liz, who cowered mockingly under the ensuing barrage. Happy laughter flooded the cabin as Liz ran to the other side of the bed under the fire of fluffy pillows. Their confrontation ended when Amy threw her last pillow and pulled Liz close to her in a warm embrace.

"You guys are such assholes!" Amy said, breathlessly. "But you're wonderful assholes."

"Especially you," Amy continued, kissing the top of Liz's head before letting go. "Now," she added. "It's still really early. Let's go back to sleep?"

The girls nodded in agreement, smiles beaming from their faces. As they turned to leave, Christie's voice boomed from the end of the cabin—far from Amy's reaches.

"Sure—or, at the very least we know someone's going to sleep well."

Amy rolled her eyes as the girls broke into a roaring, yet mellifluous laughter—their levity sonorous amongst the cabin's thick walls.

"I don't know how I deal with you guys," she said, grabbing ahold of her sheets and turning over.

The sound of birds chirping gently lulled Annabeth out of her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the pulchritudinous forest. Hazy yellow light spread across the forest clearing, bounding off the wild, vibrant vegetation. Around her stretched tall trees, spanning to the sky as if reaching up to touch the heavens. Cool, crisp air chilled Annabeth's body as she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with a harmonious freshness. It was nice here in the forest—far away from the busy streets of New York and Camp Half-Blood, which awoke in cacophony every sunrise and cradled the sun in a loving embrace every evening until disappearing over the edge of the world to be renewed every twilight like clockwork. She yawned as she stretched—arcing her body as she felt the muscles on her body pull taut, and then loosen.

Warmness flooded her body as she sprawled back onto the grass, closing her eyes and feeling the soft grass coddle her unrequitedly. A fly buzzed near her ear. She slapped it away.

I guess not even nature can be perfect, she thought to herself.

"Mornin' sleepy," a voice called from over her. She opened her eyes to find Percy standing over her, his gaze peering down from above like a towering titan. He wore a white V-neck t-shirt and black jeans that cuffed around his ankle. His hair was in a mess as if he had been running a hand through his hair. "'bout time you woke up."

Annabeth exhaled. Feeling the air passing through her body felt soothing. "Stop. You're ruining the vibe."

Yawning again, she asked, "how long have you been up?"

"About an hour or so," Percy answered. "I'm a bit of an early bird."

I know, Annabeth recalled. She colored at her familiarity with that detail. "What time is it?" She asked.

"Eight. Hey, Nico's still knocked out. We can screw with him if you want—the guy's a pretty deep sleeper."

Annabeth couldn't help but smile at the thought of a bewildered Nico—disheveled hair and all—waking up to find all his belongings missing along with his companions. The ensuing chaos would be well worth the chance to prank the son of Hades, who had apparently self-proclaimed it his life's enterprise to plague her life with incessant antics. She recalled the time that he had not only reversed the labels for hot and cold on her shower, but also replaced the entire knob so it would only work if she pulled on the knob instead of pushing it in.

She had spent the following minutes naked, attempting to procure water from the spout—only to vacillate between freezing and scalding when it finally began spraying spurts of water. She remembered the look on Nico's face when she exited the shower in her towel. He had been sitting on her bed, his face etched with the silliest look she had ever seen. Percy had been there, too—a co-conspirator to an unforgivable crime—barely able to conceal a smirk.

But, as much as she wanted to see the priceless look on Nico's face upon finding himself utterly alone in the middle of nowhere—a prize she would gladly treasure forever—Annabeth knew there was a more important matter that demanded her utmost attention. A girl's brother life was at stake—if he was even alive. Annabeth had held her tongue when Amy first told her of the girl's request, not wanting to condemn the girl's brother to certain abandonment. If he was alive and Annabeth doomed his rescue, it alone would be her perpetual burden to bear. So, here she was, searching through the woods on some expeditionary rescue team alongside her best friends.

And it was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time.

"No," she said, biting her lip and bumping Percy's leg reproachfully. "We're not on vacation or something, dummy."

Percy sighed. "You're right," he said, disappointment clouding his face. "But promise me we'll get him. Promise. That asshole got me good yesterday and I've just been thinking of so many ways to get him back."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I promise to be a part of your little stupid prank war," she said, unable to keep herself from grinning. Percy laughed, coming around to her front and holding his hand out for her to take it. When she did, he pulled her up.

"There's still hope for you yet, Annabeth," he said laughing. She rolled her eyes again.

"Let's just go wake that lazy ass up," she said, circling around a tree and finding Nico flopped face-down on the other side. His mouth was ajar. A blade of grass waved like the ebb and flow of a tide with his every breath. His black shirt was rumpled heavily—slightly pushed up and revealing his backside. Even with just the side of his face visible to her, Annabeth could gleam a glimpse of the young demigod's vulnerability that nestled inside him. Despite his trials and horrors, he would always shelter that softness in him.

At least, Annabeth hoped so. The three of them had suffered through countless ordeals together. And though they had overcome all obstacles, Annabeth felt that the challenges had been chipping away at her's and Percy's innocence like marble statues under interminable chiseling. Years of death and fighting had taken its toll on the pair of them—yet none of it seemed to trouble Nico in the slightest. She wondered if it was due to his lineage. Perhaps the son of the dead could not feel the same type of remorse she and Percy felt. It was his duty, after all, to ensure the dead stayed dead and the living prepared for the afterlife.

But, no—that couldn't be it. Nico disregarded duty when it came to Percy. When it came to friends. What he did for Percy irrevocably that he cared for his friends. That he was even willing to betray who he was at his very core to safeguard those he loved from harm. His camaraderie was undeniable. No one could refuse him that honor.

However, it was exactly because of his actions that Annabeth worried about him so. It wasn't natural for a demigod of his nature to rebel against a natural tendency. Nico existed for the sole purpose of enforcing the rules that governed the living from the dead. He ensured that the world remained harmonious—at peace with itself—amidst the chaotic humdrum of life. The one entity that ensured a consistency in a world where anarchy ran rampant in all corners of the world. And the fact that he broke this sacred covenant, therefore disrupting the balance of the entire world, frightened Annabeth. There was no way Nico could be at peace when he had knowingly shattered the foundations of his existence. Somewhere, deep down inside, Annabeth felt an insufferable apprehension frothing. It stewed with anticipation, lurching in her stomach. She'd never given Percy's return much reflection—having been overjoyed with seeing him standing in front of her. Living, breathing. Warm. Her Percy. Despite his faded memories, he was still the Percy she knew. His laugh. His jokes. The seriousness that shone in his eyes when people were in danger. They were all him.

And so, she'd never given it a second thought—thinking that she would be taking him for granted if she did. But, for some odd reason Annabeth found herself suddenly musing over the minutiae of Percy's return from the dead. If there was one thing she was certain about the Greek world they lived in it was that nothing was ever given for free. All things came at a price. And the price for bringing a loved one back from the dead? Annabeth shuddered at the thought of it and hoped with the entirety of her soul that it did not take a terrible toll on Nico.

She bent down, her hands resting on her knees. Then, with a hand, she reached out and prodded Nico with a finger. "Nico?" She asked quietly. She shook his shoulder. Nico muttered something unintelligible.

"Nico?" She asked again, a little louder. Nico moaned, flipping over onto his back.

"Amy . . .," he muttered, swatting at her leg. Annabeth smiled.

"No, it's me. Annabeth," she corrected, nudging him again. "Nico?"

"Oh, for gods' sake," Percy groaned. "Kick him or something. He's literally dead in his sleep. Get it? Because he's the son of the dead?"

Annabeth put a hand to her forehead as if she'd suddenly experiencing a severe migraine. She smiled in spite of herself. Stupid Percy.

"You know," she said, sighing, her voice reverberating with mock disappointment. "You haven't actually said something that bad in a really, really long time. That was actually just facepalm worthy."

"Was it?" Percy said, proudly. "I thought it was a pretty clever joke."

"Percy, that was fucking horrible," Nico muttered abruptly. "It was so fucking bad that I woke up to it."

Annabeth and Percy looked at each other in shock and erupted into howls of laughter. Percy, who was leaned against the trunk of a tree, slouched up against it as his legs gave out. Annabeth, who had already fallen onto the ground, reached out to rub Nico's shoulder as if to ply him with appreciation of his well-timed riposte. Her eyes brimmed with tears as her stomach continued to convulse in troves. The pair of them went on for a long time until they lay their—each on the ground—panting heavily as Nico stood.

"Honestly, you two are ridiculous. Can't a guy get a good rest?" He said, bitterly. "We've been walking for ages my feet are starting to hurt."

"Oh, quit your crying," Percy managed between breaths. "You've been sleeping for ages. Any more and poor Prometheus is going to have to go through his liver twice before you wake up."

Percy stood, leaning up against the tree for support. He exhaled deeply, still chuckling mid-breath, then said, "Anyways, we've gotta find that kid before—"

A twig snapped nearby. The three of them turned their heads sharply to the source. It had come from somewhere beyond a cluster of dense brushes, far out of sight. The mirth in the air dissipated as if sucked away to another world.

"Stay here," Annabeth said quietly, fingering her sword. She crept forward slowly, staying close to the ground like a predator stalking its prey. Her breaths came silently through her mouth as it lay ajar. Annabeth neared the first brush and pushed it aside with her freehand and proceeded warily. The frail branches on the brush crackled as she pushed through them. She felt Nico and Percy following closely behind.

Then, as Annabeth neared a thicker hedge, she spied a dark shape tussling on the floor. An animal? She couldn't tell. It cradled back and forth like a newborn. Taking another step forward, Annabeth brushed aside the branches and peered more closely—finally able to observe it clearly. Dark, muted blue eyes pierced into her own as the shape turned to face her. It screeched loudly and stood. It was taller than Annabeth by at least a few inches. Gashes ran down along its side, but no blood streamed from the gaping wounds.

No, Annabeth thought. That's not right.

It was the camper—Harry, the one they had been searching for—in a mangled mess. Harry's grimy brown hair clung to his forehead as he swayed back and forth intoxicatedly. His clothes glued to his body in tattered remains as if he had been mauled by a wild beast. Mud clung to his arms and legs, caking as it basked in the warm morning sunlight. He looked like nothing Annabeth had ever seen before. It was as if something primordial had consumed him. There was a rabid aura about him. Annabeth felt there nothing more he wanted than to tear her apart limb from limb.

"Back!" Annabeth yelled, stumbling backwards out of the hedges. "Back up!"

In a flash, Harry leaped forward inhumanely, propelling himself over the hedge-line. Annabeth fell back quickly alongside Percy and Nico. The three of them stood apart from one another evenly—Annabeth between Nico and Percy, who stood on her left and right. They backtracked slowly as Harry began advancing methodically. He panted heavily as if out of breath.

"What do we do?" Percy growled, sword in hand. "Do we kill him?"

"He looks as good as dead," Nico joked, though his face was tightened in a worrisome grimace. "Why don't I do my job for once and kill him?"

"No," Annabeth said, unsheathing her sword. Its sheen glared brightly into her eyes for a brief moment as it caught ahold of daylight. She held it steady in her right hand. Sweat trickled down her face as Harry stalked his way forward, pushing them back into a grove circumscribing a spacious clearing. Light here was the brightest, casting the world in a flourish of dazzling beauty. Harry looked oddly out of place as he stepped into the clearing with them—the darkness around him bubbling like an invisible shield.

"We've gotta bring him back to Amy," Annabeth continued. "I've never seen anything like this before. She's going to want to know why this happened."

"Are you volunteering, then, Annabeth?" Nico said, facetiously. "He looks likes you the best. I would volunteer, but I don't have boobs—and I'm pretty sure he's into that sort of thing."

"You know I can take him," she said, breathlessly. Her eyes remained fixated on the hulking Harry, who almost seemed rapt with a bloodlust fervor. "I—"

Harry exploded in a sprint, closing the distance before she could finish. He was much faster than she had anticipated. His hands wrapped around a stained hilt near his waist and swung outward. The sword resonated mellifluously as it connected with Annabeth's blade. Her blade faltered, and their blades followed through to their sides. Sparks scattered into the grass. For a moment, Annabeth was stunned by the amount of force pressed up against her blade. Her teeth gritted as she swung upward to block his next swing—redirecting it so that their blades ended up to the sides again. She'd never felt such ferocity from a foe before. Percy and Nico, yes, but never from an adversary. Her sword felt extraordinarily sluggish compared to Harry's agile barrage. She was barely able to defend against the next attack again—feeling the weight of his attacks forcing her to secede ground.

Roars erupted from her sides as Nico and Percy raced forward, slashing at Harry's limbs. Blood sprayed across flowers as their blades connected with flesh. Harry growled menacingly, backhanding Nico with the pummel of his sword and then stabbing smartly at Percy's direction. Percy rolled behind Harry and swung his sword, lacerating Harry's back. Nico, who had stumbled backwards from Harry's blow and was bleeding from his nose, grabbed at Harry's shoulder and punched him in the face. The noise made a sickening crunch as his knuckles connected with cheekbone. Harry staggered to the side.

Annabeth took her opportunity and darted forward, swinging her sword upward. The blow connected with Harry's blade—but before he could recover, Annabeth followed with another upward blow from the other side. Harry stumbled backwards as he leaned back to dodge the blow. Following through with her momentum, Annabeth continued her fusillade—striking from above this time. Harry held his sword out to block it—crumbling to the ground under the force of her blow and his wounds. His sword shot out of his hands under the pressure of the attack, clattering mutely on the grass. Annabeth's left hand shot out, connecting with his face.

Harry fell back onto the floor—his ragged breathing convulsing as blood clotted around his mouth.

"Fucker," Nico retorted, spitting out blood. "I thought for sure Percy and I had him when we both got him. But he took it like a champ and wrecked me."

A stony-faced Percy came up from Nico's side. "We're lucky there were three of us. I think if I had to fight him alone he'd be pretty hard."

Annabeth remained wordless—consumed by the sight that lay before her. What had made Harry this way? The darkness around him remained unchanged. Even now, he still looked like a rabid animal that had ventured out from the forest. A subdued wild animal, she thought. Yes, that was what described him best. There was something feral about the Harry that lay before her. It troubled her—gnawing at her chest with deadly trepidation as he wormed on the ground, soaking the ground in a disgusting crimson.

"Let's tie him up and get him back to camp," she said finally. "Amy will know what to do with him."

"At least he's not dead," Percy said.

"I'm not sure if this is much better than death," Nico muttered, wiping at his nose. "I don't even know what to call this. It's like the original Harry was replaced by a demon or something."

Annabeth shrugged. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we'll be able to find some sort of record about this in our libraries."

She knelt down beside Harry, reaching into a pouch attached to her belt. Her fingers found rope and began tying his hands together.

"There," she said, standing up. "Now we can take him back to camp. Now, which one of you boys want to carry him?"

Percy and Nico exchanged glances.

"Since you got hit in the face, I think I should probably start?" Percy offered, shrugging. Nico laughed, slapping Percy on the back.

"Keep this up, and I don't think I would mind getting hit in the face every once in a while," Nico said, grinning.

Percy rolled his eyes and hoisted Harry over his shoulders, who started slamming his tied hands together into Percy's back.

"Annabeth," Percy said, sighing. A slight impatience tinged in his voice. "Give him a little love tap for me? Pretty ungrateful for having someone carry him all the way back. If I were him, I'd kiss me."

"Sure," she said, coming around to Percy's backside. Her hand, still holding her sword, came up and pommeled Harry along the cheekbones. She didn't hit hard, but in that moment, she knew Harry had felt her resolve behind the blow—silent words spoken so simply put that even someone like Harry could understand. He stopped squirming and fell quiet. His darkened blue-eyes glared with an ominous resolution as if promising her that their fight had yet to conclude. She returned the gaze—a mute agreement between two rivals.

Percy sighed, with relief this time. "You're a blessing, Annabeth," he said. She rolled her eyes as if he had stated the most obvious fact in the world. "I think we can get back to camp by tomorrow night if we keep a steady pace."

"If you can keep up," Nico said, tauntingly. His dark eyes playfully teased the son of Poseidon. "Gods know you've getting a little chubby. Might even have to take a few food breaks."

"Shut up," Percy said, laughing. "Keep talking and I'm going to make you carry him."

"You're as strong as Hercules," Nico said, abruptly reneging on his remark. "—no, stronger even. Or do you want to be Odysseus?"

"Okay, smartass," Percy guffawed, shoving Nico to the side. He readjusted the dangling Harry on his shoulder. "Let's head out?"

"Sounds good to me," Annabeth answered, looking to Nico, who shrugged in agreement. Annabeth reached out and ruffled Percy's hair before walking past him, leading the way. She pushed past some brushes to find the main dirt road they had traveled on the day before. The road spanned across the expansive forest, snaking over miles of green land before ending abruptly at the edge of a cliff at the forest's fringe. They had spent the previous day trekking for over twelve hours—abandoning the trail often to venture deep into the unknowns of the thicket beyond—areas that would remain perennially unmapped. They stuck close to one another, however, to avoid losing each other amidst the sprawling vegetation that seemed to claw outward as if to capture its poor victims in a mortal embrace.

Annabeth stopped at a tree closest to the road and scanned it before finding an etch she had made previously, which pointed in the direction of Camp Half-Blood.

"This way," she said, shouldering a knapsack that lay at the base of the trunk. She shrugged into it and tightened at its drawstrings. Percy and Nico followed shortly after, their equipment clanging with each step.

"Let's go?" Annabeth asked again, after a moment, glancing to find both of her friends flanking her sides. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew her question bespoke of the future. She couldn't help but feel a strange apprehension tugging at her chest, as if warning her of the hardships that had yet to pass. Feeling Percy's and Nico's wordless agreement, she snugged into her knapsack a final time and stepped forward—leading them on the snaking path that would guide them home.


	5. Twilight Betwixt

_Hold fast to dreams,_

_For if dreams die_

_Life is a broken-winged bird,_

_That cannot fly._

—Langston Hughes

Annabeth trudged along the side of the dirt trail, kicking at stones as she passed them. Percy trekked behind her, his boots scrunching up against ground with every step. Nico hiked on the opposite side. His eyes were distant and filled with contemplation. She felt her own thoughts wander as well. It would be some time before they made it back to Camp Half-Blood. The winding trail twisted for miles in an uphill battle where the trio had to clamber over uneven footing to avoid slipping and rolling down the slope. Nico had tripped several times over the past hours and scraped his arms against the surrounding thickets. He wasn't clumsy, though—just lost in thought. In fact, he'd hardly reacted each time—merely dusting himself off and continuing unfazed. Annabeth felt her legs burn slightly—a heat she welcomed, coursing through her muscles. There was a certain euphoria when they ignited this way. It made her feel alive and agile.

Percy suffered the worst out of them all—his weight effectively doubled with Harry, who was not modest in size at all. She could hear Percy's labored panting, but not once did he complain—instead choosing to stay silent with incorrigible fixation on the path before him. Harry swung slightly from his shoulders like a pendulum. His face was wrought with pain from his wounds. Blood seeped through lining in his torn outfit and had stained Percy's clean shirt. From above, the midday sun beat down over the road, but could not steal into the sides where the three marched in the cool shade.

Annabeth's stomach growled. Suddenly realizing her abrupt hunger, Annabeth turned her head back to Percy without breaking pace.

"Are you hungry?" She asked. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and looked up at her, almost excitedly.

"Thank god. I'm starving—I didn't know if you guys ate or something, but I didn't have breakfast and I'm dying." He said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. Sweat dribbled down his temples. Just then, she heard a large rumble from his direction as well.

Annabeth laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Nico?" She called, looking to the other side of the road.

"Hmm?" Nico replied, looking toward her. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

"Food?" Annabeth repeated, stopping in her tracks. Percy and Nico stopped as well. Percy leaned back against a tree.

"Sure," Nico said. "Are we going to make the soup that we packed?"

"Of course," Annabeth said, rolling her eyes. "We can have coney stew. I packed carrots, some herbs. Salt. Pepper. And so, so, much more. It's going to be delicious and we can make a big pot out of this. Just for Percy. And we have more than enough water, too, so . . . sounds good?"

She turned to Percy, who nodded his head vigorously with such animated enthusiasm she couldn't help but smile giddily.

"Okay, then," she continued. "Percy, put Harry down already you look like you're going to pass out."

"Hey, he's a big guy," Percy muttered, though relief colored his tone. He set Harry down against the tree and leaned down. "Stay here. You know we'll catch you if you run off, so just make it easy for all of us and you can eat, too. I bet Annabeth's cooking will be great."

"Hah!" Nico sputtered, holding a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Annabeth frowned reproachfully, looking at the son of the dead with arms akimbo.

"Wait, what's wrong?" Percy's face paled with palpable worry. "She can cook, right? Nico?"

"Of course, I can!" Annabeth exclaimed, exasperatedly, wavering her gaze between the two demigods. "I cook all the time!"

"Percy," Nico whispered spuriously, his voice more than audible enough for Annabeth to hear. "Food is food, ain't it?"

What color was left in Percy's pallor dissipated instantly. "Well, yeah, but . . . maybe Annabeth—is it okay if Nico or I cook or something, then?"

Annabeth scoffed with incredulity. "I can cook!"

When nobody said anything, she continued. "Really! Oh, my gods, Nico, I swear I'm going to kill you."

"Uh-uh," Nico said, roaring with laughter. He held up a finger and wagged it. Then, as if telling the funniest joke in the world, "you'd be killing the remaining chef in the group, and I think Percy wouldn't take that really well."

"Nico!"

Nico guffawed. "Per—Percy. Hon—Honestly, Annabeth . . . Annabeth, you just gotta—" He held his head back and howled with laughter. And amidst his teary eyes, he continued, trying his hardest to refrain from breaking mid-sentence, "Percy, do you want to know what Annabeth did one time back at Camp Half-Blood when she was cooking toast for everyone?"

Annabeth felt her face grow hot from embarrassment at the recollection. "Nico di Angelo, I swear if you bring this up I will come over there myself and end you."

"—She put the bread into a toaster oven," he continued, gallantly undeterred. Annabeth felt her hands tighten. Her face was ablaze. "And I kid you not—I don't know how she did it, but in just a few minutes the entire oven was on fire."

"What?" Percy's voice came out with absolute incredulity. "Annabeth. You burned toast?" His words dropped like bricks.

"Nico, I swear if you—," Annabeth started.

"And then the entire kitchen completely just combusted, flames everywhere."

The silence from Percy was unnerving. Annabeth took a breath, willing herself not to clobber the son of Hades and wipe the smug grin off his face. "Okay, look—how was I supposed to know that we have some magical oven that broils food at like 500 degrees a minute. I literally put them in there for a few minutes and then next thing I know I've got the crispiest pieces of toast on the planet."

"Percy," Nico added. "The toast was like twice as small than when she put it in. They were so tiny it was kinda cute."

"Yeesh," Percy commented. "Annabeth, you won't burn the soup, will you?"

"Percy!" Annabeth cried, infuriatedly. "Honestly!"

"I'm joking," he said, coming up to her side. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. It felt warm to the touch. "I'll gladly eat whatever you make."

She glanced to him, apprehensively. "Even if it's dry soup?" She asked meekly. "Or burnt toast?"

"Even if you end up burning soup—gods know how you're going to do that—yes," he said. A grin graced his face—one that Annabeth fondly remembered from long ago when they were together. His kind eyes bore into her eyes with genuineness. "I can't turn something down like that—especially if you made it yourself."

"It's your funeral," Nico said, chiming in with a sing-song voice.

"—Except maybe Nico," Percy added. "Whatever he makes, I'm tossing straight out."

"Your loss!" Nico's voice rang across the forest. Annabeth rolled her eyes, but beamed at Percy's words.

"It's a promise then, okay?" Annabeth said, narrowing her eyes at Percy. "You'll eat whatever I make?"

"If it's from you," Percy added. "If it's from Nico, I'm pretty sure he'll lace it with something poisonous—like laxatives or something," he said, ending with a whisper.

"What's that?" Nico asked, suddenly extremely curious. "What did he say?"

Annabeth laughed. She felt her eyes twinkle with delight as Percy held her gaze to his own. A warmness flooded her body, making her feel flushed. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with.

"Nothing," she responded. "Don't worry about it."

"So, then . . ." Percy said, trailing off. "Food?"

"Yup," she said, peppily. "And you, too, Nico. You're eating every last drop!"

"Of course," he said. "You know I love joking around with you."

Annabeth grinned, edging out of the knapsack on her back.

"Go on," she said, ushering toward nearby trees. "Take your rest. This'll take a little."

After the boys had settled in nearby the trees—Percy sitting nearby Harry and Nico not too far off, but further into the forest than the rest—Annabeth began to pull out the ingredients for her soup. She grabbed at a large stone pot and different vegetables and herbs: potatoes, cabbage, basil, and other ingredients formed the base of her broth, which was drawn from surplus water she had in extra gourds. A small fire kindled at near the edge of the road—started from a small flint and stone she always carried in her bag. The tiny flame surged as Annabeth fed it more kindle, grabbing at its food hungrily. It grew until reaching an inner circle of stones she'd placed to keep it from spreading. The flames tongued the rocks rebelliously, as if attempting to push them away and rush to freedom. She placed a few stones into the center of the flame and waited until they were glowing red, then dropped them one-by-one into the pot, bringing the soup to a boil.

Her hands reached for the coney she'd killed the night before—and began to skin it with a dagger from her belt. The blade sliced through the pelt easily. After the pelt was off, she began to strip meat off the hare into the soup. The broth boiled calmly, bubbling and popping with a gentleness that relaxed Annabeth's muscles as it lapped up the meat eagerly. She stirred the pot and sprinkled some salt and pepper into the mix. The broth began to take color, turning sweet and creamy.

"Hey, Annabeth," Percy called, "that smells pretty good."

"I know," she said, smirking. She turned her head to him. "Would you like to taste some?"

"Sure," he replied, getting up and coming to her side. He knelt down and reached for the ladle in her hand. "Can I?"

"Oh, yeah—here," Annabeth said, slightly flustered that she had been staring at him a little too long. "Careful, it's hot."

Percy took the ladle from her and scooped some broth. He brought the spoon to his lips, and after blowing away the steam, sipped at the soup. His sea-green eyes widened.

"Annabeth," Percy croaked, lapping up the rest of the bouillon enthusiastically. "I think I could eat this entire thing and not leave a drop for Nico." He glanced over to the napping demigod hunched against the base of a tree.

Annabeth beamed, taking the spoon from him and stirring the pot some more. "You'll just have to wait because it's not done yet. The soup still has to settle in with the different flavors, so just sit back for a while until it finishes, yeah?"

"Honestly, I would eat it the way it's now," Percy said, sighing. The disappointment in his voice pleased Annabeth. Having Percy looking forward to her dish so much to the point where he couldn't wait stemmed a surge of pride that filled her chest confidently.

"Nu-uh," Annabeth said, sing-songlike. She tapped his nose with her finger. "You're just going to have to wait, Percy Jackson. And waiting means staying here and keeping me entertained while I make sure this pot doesn't burn to a cinder as Nico would be so happy about."

Percy chuckled and sat down, settling next to her wordlessly. Annabeth settled the ladle against the edge of the pot and leaned back onto the grass, feeling the coolness edge into her welcomingly. It felt soft and fluffy like a wonderful bed. Percy followed, leaning back. Their shoulders brushed against one another. They laid there for a moment, and for the most part, Annabeth's mind was clear and empty—simply wandering from thought to thought aimlessly and carelessly, abandoning each one and easily clasping onto another; however, there was a single thought that pressed its way through the erratic fray that was her mind's eye.

She hadn't given it much credence after the fight at Camp Half-Blood, which the campers had begun dubbing Red October. There simply hadn't been enough time to do so. There'd always been a more urgent matter that took precedence—always a fight, or a task to complete. It didn't leave much time for reflection and pondering. But now, under the cover of the towering trees around them and the relaxing bubbling of boiling broth, Annabeth's mind was finally able to feel the disease that clawed at her heart. Percy, the person she held dearest, seemed so far from her. Even now, betwixt under the shadows, he still felt so distant from her. The night the two of them had laid down under the night sky and talked about constellations and the uncertainty of the future echoed resoundingly in her mind. They had felt so close then, but now, it seemed the abrupt intimate friendship they had shared that beautiful night had suddenly wedged its way between their conversations.

And Annabeth hated it, for she felt the awkwardness stemmed from not only Percy, but herself as well. She hardly knew what to say after having such a deep and personal talk. It was a conversation one would share with someone they were close to. But Annabeth and Percy were not close, merely strangers bound together by a remarkable sense of twisted fate. The deepness of the conversation had altered the boundaries of their friendship, or rather inserted complexities. Were they close friends now? Or were they the same, merely acquaintances who'd created meaningful conversation under the right conditions?

Annabeth sighed, tussling with the right words to say to the son of Poseidon beside her. She was accustomed to always knowing what to say. Always being in control. It unnerved her so to be unable to conjure up a skeleton of a conversation.

So, she was grateful when it was Percy who broke the silence first.

"Hey," he said, turning to face her. "Since the soup is going to take a while, do you mind if I ask you something important?"

Annabeth blinked. "Sure," she said, a little hesitantly, "ask away."

Percy paused for a brief moment. His eyes stared inquisitively into Annabeth's, as if trying to solve a puzzle locked away within her.

"Do . . . do we know each other?" he said, almost low enough to pass as a whisper. "I—Okay that came out a bit different than what I wanted to say—but, what I really meant to ask is . . . have we known each other for a long time? When we talked the entire night the other day it really felt like I was talking to someone I've known for years. Hell, even Nico and I don't have those type of conversations—and I've known the guy for years now—so either you're just really, really good at talking or we've met before and I really just can't remember."

Annabeth's heart skipped a beat as her mind raced to find an answer under his scrutinizing gaze. Could she tell him the truth? No. It wouldn't change how he felt toward her now. Telling him could even push him away—creating a rift between the two that could only be mended with the realization of the impossible longing that nested in her heart. But it was difficult to not tell him when he was so close she could smell the freshness clinging to his breath. Under those piercing eyes of his, which plied hers in search for answers, Annabeth felt the overwhelming need to let the words fall from out her mouth like weights before she could recover her senses and lock them away tightly.

"No, I didn't know you," she said before the temptation was too great, and flashed the best smile she could muster. As much as she wished to reopen the wound in her heart, telling would do nothing except shift this heavy burden from her to him. "I mean, of course I knew of you. Who wouldn't have known about the son of Poseidon, right? A son of one of the big three. You're basically the closest thing we have to a celebrity in our world. You and Nico."

Percy gave her a small smile, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of disappointment cross his expression. His eyes flickered to the side for the briefest moment as if suddenly unable to return her gaze.

"And." Annabeth rolled her eyes and turned so she fully faced him. Under the shade the greenness in his eyes seemed more alive, vibrant even. They shone with a gleaming intensity that seemed to blaze when catching ahold of light. His jet-black hair fell to the side, the ends resting on the grassy bedding. Behind him the dirt road streaked endlessly until vanishing over the acme of the hillside. She felt the force of nature pressing down against her, lightly coercing her body to begin a descent down the slope. Her hair was a tattered mess against the ground, sprawled out aimlessly like tendrils. "Isn't that a weird question to ask, Percy Jackson? A girl might think you're hitting on her if you're so straightforward like this." She bumped his shoulder with her fist playfully.

For the first time since he'd been brought back from the dead, Percy's face seemed flush with a slight reddish tinge. Annabeth wondered at that. It was hot today, however, and it would not be unusual for one to begin to glow under the monotonous heat. She felt her own face blush as well and reached with the back of her hand to test its warmth.

"We never talked about it," he said. His gazed turned to the sky. Annabeth saw his chest rise and fall slowly with every breath.

"Talked about what?"

"What happened at the battle." Percy's voice grew soft and sad. Annabeth puzzled at the sudden change in topic. "I didn't think much of it at the time, since I didn't know you, but I'm sure I saw you back then, lying in bed in one of our cabins. You were all bloody and a complete mess. And now that I do know you, I can't help but feel afraid, but curious as well."

"Oh." Now that was a weird change. Annabeth had not expected him to bring the affair of her lying feverishly in bed, fending off the weakness that had overcome her body from the injuries she had sustained. It brought back the memory of her falsely mistaking Nico for him on the battlefield, and the idea of Percy gazing onto her then frail body unnerved her. She felt awkwardly naked at once, shivering at the thought of him observing her bloody body surviving on only nectar.

"That . . ." she said, a little unsettled, "yeah, I got pretty beat up, to be honest."

She held out her left hand to Percy and pointed at where it had hurt most—where the manticore had pressed all its weight. It stung with a phantom pain, still, when she looked at it long enough with the memory replaying. Percy took her hand gently, brushing over the center of her palm, where all the pain had collected before. Her hand tingled as his thumb brushed against her skin lightly. She sighed, feeling the sensation overcoming the residual phantom pain. It melted away warmly and her hand felt fuzzy and loose with relaxation.

"What happened?" he murmured. The curiosity in his eyes returned. Annabeth looked away from its intensity, staring down at her left hand instead, which remained clasped amongst Percy's tracing fingers.

"Hmm . . ." Annabeth struggled to find the words to describe what had happened. Everything had happened so quickly, and the pain had rendered most of what she saw with a blur. She saw snippets of her memories playing out in front of her, only to vanish after a second. Blurry, muddled shapes that twisted and turned momentarily before coalescing into odder shapes of sorts.

"There's not much I actually remember, but I do remember first fighting a manticore," Annabeth said, frowning slightly in vexation as she struggled to jog her memory. "I'm pretty sure it found me first because I remember running, then flying out of nowhere."

She grinned at the suddenly amusing afterthought of herself transitioning from a run to being suspended in air, tumbling and tossing around. Percy, on the other hand, looked duly concerned.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, it's nothing," Annabeth reassured, smile unchanged, "but, yeah, long story short I sparred with a manticore. Came out on top like a total champ. And some victory scars." She bobbed her up and down as if nodding in agreement.

"Not the best at stories, are you?" Percy laughed, prodding her at the ribs. Annabeth giggled at the ticklish sensation, swatting at his hand.  
"What do you mean?" she asked, naively. "I'd give me ten out of ten for such a riveting, compelling, and heartfelt vocalization of my epic. A real masterpiece, it is," she said, beaming with excessive pride. Her hands came up at her sides in akimbo in mock bravado.

It was Percy's turn to laugh now, his voice bouncing about in the forest. Nico moaned somewhere in the distance in response.

"You're weird," Percy said, flicking at her nose. She scrunched her face in response, and took her revenge with a fist bump to his shoulder.

"Weird is good," she corrected.

"Weird is fun," Percy added.

"Everyone's weird."

"Okay, then. Existential thought coming up," Percy said, raising his eyebrows. Annabeth shuffled in place, cozying herself into the little spot she had made for herself.

"I'm waiting."

"If everyone's weird," Percy started, his facing turning slightly melodramatically, "does that make everyone normal?"

"Ah," Annabeth said, feeling playful, "but there are good weirdos and bad weirdos."

"And I'm guessing you're . . ."

She scoffed. "The best weirdo, obviously?"

"Which would make me . . .?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "You're one of the better weirdos," she said, as if it were the hardest thing to admit, "but, just by barely. You're like teetering on the edge on being just an average Joe." Her hands came up to imitate the motions of a see-saw.

"Yes!" hissed Percy, doing a self-congratulatory fist-pump, "and Nico?"

"I think we both know he's on a totally different spectrum."

"Ah, yeah," Percy said in agreement, "he adds shades to this spectrum of good and bad weirdos then, yeah?"

"Another 50 shades to it, to be honest," Annabeth said in agreement as well. Percy chuckled.

"You read that?" he asked. "Isn't that supposed to be for like horny middle-aged moms?"

"I watched it, okay?" said Annabeth, a little defensively. She held up a finger to correct him. "And if you watched it, then you would find that it has a very intelligent take on psychology."

"That honestly sounds like some excuse a middle-aged horny mom would make to her husband to justify going to the movies alone to watch it," he teased.

"Take it however you want, Percy Jackson," warned Annabeth, "but don't judge a book by its cover."

Percy shrugged. "I call 'em as I see 'em."

"Wait, okay, then let me get this right." Annabeth sat up, her hands gripping her ankles. "If only horny middle-aged moms watch this movie, then what does that make me?"

"Obviously a horny teen," Percy said as if it were a matter of fact.

"You're unbelievable!" Annabeth exclaimed, a hint of playful asperity coloring her voice. Percy cackled with glee at her frustration, to which she found his teasing both charming and dreadful.

Despite Percy's antics, Annabeth found herself enjoying their pleasant conversation. It was a welcome reprieve from the monotonous life she had found herself living in for years. For most of her hackneyed teen life, she'd woken every day garbing herself in sparring gear and perfecting already perfected routines, practicing with the same campers every day, sacrificing the same food to the gods every meal, sleeping and rising in the same cot each sunset and sunrise. Her humdrum life was full of a dreary sense of repetition that stemmed from its perpetual schedule. It was ceaseless, interrupted only by cataclysmic events that shook the mythological world. Yes, it was true that with the return of Kronos she'd finally, as terrible as it sounded, gladly broken out of the trite routine. It had commanded the entirety of her attention, which meant leaving little time for ruminations. Little time for her to ponder the dissatisfaction being stuck at Camp Half-Blood.

In a twisted way, she appreciated the distraction. It had left her mind anew, preoccupied with the events that had transpired—the deaths that had occurred, so that when she returned back to Camp Half-Blood falling back into routine felt out of ordinary. It hadn't taken long, however, for time to seep into her mind and stem the pains that panged within both body and soul. And though she would never forget the heartache that clutched at her heart, eventually the incorrigibility of repetition manifested itself once more and staled the freshness of her mornings.

Sitting here alongside Percy, talking about things normal people around her age indulged in, breathed a refreshing air into her soul she hadn't experienced in a long time. It added a new dimension to the world they lived in they normally would never be able to experience. Movies, sports, books—except for Greek mythology and philosophy—music were all foreign to the regular demigod, who preferred heroics, tales of legends, glory, fame. Far more easily was she able to procure a conversation about the tragic tale of Oedipus or Odysseus's fabled return home than she could about the newest James Rollins novel release.

But with Percy, who had spent most of his childhood growing up as a normal child—she hated how that sounded, implying the irregularity of demigods—had some familiarity with the regular world.

So, Annabeth couldn't help but beam when Percy proceeded to open his mouth to continue teasing her.

"Then you'll have to watch with me some time."

Annabeth sat there for a moment, not quite understanding his rejoinder, but then realized quickly realized that what she heard indeed was not an insult, but an invitation. Her face glowed red hot like coal in flames, and she knew this time it was not the heat that made her go flush.

"Wait, what?" she asked, taken aback. Her voice came out bemusedly as if it did not belong to her, that someone else, someone far away was speaking in her stead.

"Movie," Percy reiterated, leaning forward, "wanna watch it?" His eyes bore into hers, asking her silently for a response.

"Yes," she said almost too quickly without thought, and then, when racing to regain her composure, "as long as it gets you to shut up about how it's only for horny women."

"Great," Percy said, easing back onto the grass.

They sat there after in a moment of silence. Annabeth's heart pounded profusely as how one would rap on a door angrily. The flushed feeling refused to retreat, making her cheeks feel almost uncomfortably warm.

"Oh shit," she muttered, suddenly remembering the stew. She scrambled onto her knees and hurried over to the stone pot and peered in.

"Shit," she repeated.

She felt Percy by her side. "Oh," he said.

What was left of her wonderful concoction were darkened pieces of vegetables glued to the sides of the bowl. A small blackish, brownish puddle of broth rested at the bottom of the pot. Wisps of smoke billowed from the pot. Annabeth blew on it, pushing the smokiness away. She smothered the flame underneath quickly, then glanced apprehensively at Percy, who seemed mortally upset at the crisp crumbs of food that remained.

"You did it," his voice echoed.

"What?" Annabeth asked, perplexed. "What did I do?"

His eyebrows rose. "Annabeth." Percy straightened his back and placed both his hands on Annabeth's sides and squared her shoulders. He leaned in closely, and with a whisper, "are you a goddess or something?"

Annabeth frowned, and opened her mouth to say something clever, but Percy cut her off.

"NICO!" he bellowed. The son of Hades started against the tree, banging his head against the trunk.

"Fuck," Nico muttered loudly, the pain tinging on his voice. "Gods damn it, Percy, what the hell do you want?"

Annabeth's heart froze still as she realized what was happening.

"Gods damn it, Percy," she growled, tackling Percy to the ground and covering his mouth. Percy squirmed from underneath her, kicking and clawing, trying to escape from her inescapable embrace; however, between her fingers, a word escaped from his eager lips.

"S-Soup", he sputtered, then wheezed as Annabeth placed with vehemence her knee upon his chest. She drove in hard, and without regret. She felt her face livid with a blend of incredulity and indignity.

"What?" Nico asked, puzzled, then his voice filled with understanding. "Wait . . . No. Annabeth. You didn't." The shock in his voice reverberated deafeningly.

Percy's hand shot up by her side with a thumb up. Nico howled with laughter. Annabeth groaned in defeat and rolled onto her side, gasping with adrenaline. Percy sat upright, coughing.

"Jesus, Annabeth," he complained, hoarsely, "if I didn't know better I would have thought you were trying to kill me."

"I should have," she snapped, then feeling badly for her outburst, "I'm sorry. I lost track of time when we were talking and everything and totally forgot about the soup and . . ." She sighed, then said a little meekly, "I'm really sorry, guys."

Even Annabeth could find no recompense for her oversight. It was as if one moment the soup was on its way to completion, then the next as if Hephaestus and Zeus had colluded surreptitiously to sabotage it. It was so burnt, so crisped that there was no way a mortal could have ruined it like that by normal means. No, that level of skill could only have been done by divine intervention.

Her stomach growled voraciously, as if agreeing with Percy's and Nico's disappointment.

"It's fine, Annabeth," Percy reassured, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I kinda distracted you the entire time, so it's partially my fault, too."

Annabeth gave him a small smile, and her hand came up to Percy's and touched it, letting her appreciation flow from her fingertips into his hand.

"Thanks, but it really is my fault. We have some leftovers in my sack over . . ." Annabeth's voiced trailed off as she looked around for the bag. "Here," she said, reaching across the grass and grabbing the bag, which had been in arms-reach alongside the road. "Granola bars, fruit, and some jerky. Got a lot of random stuff in here."

Nico walked over and took the bag from her and turned it over. True to her words, blended assortments of snacks fell out onto the ground. A frown, which had been present on Nico's face when he first came over, changed to delight as he shuffled through the snacks.

"Aha!" he said, holding up a peanut-butter and jelly granola bar. "I'm so glad you packed this. It's my favorite."

"I know," Annabeth said, grinning. She was glad they were slowly moving away from her blackened concoction. "You don't think I wouldn't know my best friend's favorite granola bar, would you?"

"I might just forgive you for spoiling the soup," said Nico, kissing the granola bar fervently. The wrapper crinkled as he tore it apart eagerly. "I still think, though," he said, chewing a piece off the bar, "that while I didn't actually think you'd be able to burn soup, you've proven me wrong."

"Well, it was technically my fault, too," interjected an absentminded Percy, who was digging through his own pack as well. He procured a few snacks, muttering their names under his breath. Then out of the corner of Annabeth's eye, she saw his hands fingering something . . .

"Orange!" Percy exclaimed, soliciting the fruit in the palm of his right hand. He proffered it to Annabeth, who shook her head vigorously and pushed his hand toward Nico. The son of Hades glanced at the fruit before shrugging and taking it into his free hand. The remaining granola bar disappeared into his mouth as he began to shred away at the orange's peel, his hands working expertly at tearing the skin so that it became a single detached piece. The peel coiled back into a semblance of the shape it once circumscribed, but without the flesh of the fruit to hold it in place, collapsed inwards on itself.

Nico began to tear away at the fleshiness of the fruit.

"Here," said Percy, handing her jerky of his own and . . .

"Is that soup?" Annabeth said in disbelief. "When did you bring that?"

In Percy's hand rested a Campbell's chicken noodle canned soup, ready for consumption at a moment's notice. It was already cracked open at the lid with a plastic spoon nesting along the rims. Golden bouillon filled the can to the brim, and inside the broth sat carrots, a sea of egg noodles, strips of chicken, and peas.

"I just thought that having instant food would probably be important just in case we didn't have time to cook," he said, shrugging.

"Which is a bit ironic," Nico said, "given how much food we actually brought."

When the three of them had finished their afternoon snacking, relieving them from their voracious appetites, Percy strode over to where Harry was perched, apple and canned soup in hand, and knelt down beside him. Annabeth gazed after him curiously. Percy leaned forward and spoke some unintelligible words. Harry nodded his head obediently, and Percy proceeded to tie Harry's left hand tightly around the base of the tree Harry was leaned against before freeing both of Harry's hands from the bind that held them together.

With one hand free to eat, Harry eagerly scooped at the soup and thrusted the contents into his mouth, chewing edaciously. Percy patted him on the back and came back to Annabeth's side. Nico had moved back to where he had been napping earlier and was dozing peacefully.

"We should probably start heading out soon," Annabeth remarked, taking note of the position of the sun in the sky. "We've been burning time for over an hour now."

"Yeah," agreed Percy. "I don't regret it though."

"Regret what?"

"Taking a little more time than normal," Percy said, sighing. "It's kind of peaceful out here. Quiet. Relaxing, more relaxing than I can ever remember even feeling. Out here, I get the feeling of complete freedom. No gods watching over my back and telling me what to do, or what new camp director is going to be breathing down my back."

Annabeth was certain he was not talking about Amy specifically, but rather the notion of being ordered around. She crinkled her nose as it began to itch.

"Look," Percy said, raising his hand and thumbing the direction toward Harry. "Even he's doing just fine."

Annabeth glanced at Harry, who was still deeply vested in his ravenous enterprise, his muddy bangs shielding his eyes from view as he devoured each bite.  
"Even he's doing fine," she agreed, bobbing her head slightly in agreement. Then, glancing a little nervously at Percy, "thanks."

And when Percy looked puzzled, she added, "for the food. It was great."

Percy smiled. "I think it only tasted really good because we were super hungry. Try eating any of that when you're actually full and you might change your mind."

"Maybe," she said, bumping her shoulder into his, "but thanks, anyway."

"Let's wait a little before waking Nico up?" he asked, turning to her. She found herself caught in the suspense of his green eyes again. Annabeth knew his question was meant for not only Nico, but for the both of them as well. Somehow, this forest had reached into their hearts and offered respite from the cold world they lived in. And now, for the first time in a very long time, Annabeth knew the three of them were fettered by a certain reluctance to leave the sanctity of the forest, as if it was better here than it was at home, back at Camp Half-Blood.

"Yeah, sounds good," she agreed. Feeling suddenly tired, she leaned back onto the grass, feeling it grasp at her as if welcoming her home. The softness felt wonderful against her fingers. "Wake me up in a few?"

And when his voice came, speaking words she could not hear, yet knew the answer to, she closed her eyes, feeling protected under his watchful gaze, and felt reality slip from her mind and into silence.

Percy sat in silence as the beautiful golden-haired girl beside him drifted off to sleep. Her face peacefully nuzzled up against the inside of her arms. Her hair sprawled out across the grass as if scattered amongst a wind, aimlessly wonderful. Her cream-colored shirt wrinkled at the edges where she lay on it. She wore black joggers that cuffed around near her ankle, allowing for a convenient combination of both flexibility and function. Percy shifted his hand toward hers, his finger lightly tracing along the spot she had pointed to when recalling her wounds.

His hand pulsed loudly. He didn't remember when he'd started feeling this way, but as he continued to stare down at the sleeping daughter of Athena, he felt his heart warm with an inexplicable desire to protect her from harm. To shield her from the horrors of the world. But, he knew that was impossible, for the daughter of Athena had witnessed the same horrors he had witnessed. Shared the pain he shared. Felt the death of each death. She lived his life. There was no escape for the two of them in the vast, bleak world they lived in—damned forever to a life of torment and loss with nothing on the horizon but glory and retribution.

Annabeth sighed, turning onto her back, an arm coming to rest across her stomach. Percy smiled, taking a moment to stare at her long lashes. She was breathtakingly beautiful, so much so that he felt the air in his stomach suck out every time she spoke to him. Her slender neck, athletic-build, long legs—oh gods, the long legs—and stormy-gray eyes that etched themselves into his mind; her cute laugh, which often times turned into roars; the way she tussled his hair as she passed by him; how she grew angry in the most adorable way when teased. Sometimes, without knowing it, he'd find himself standing by her side just wanting to feel her presence near him. In many ways, he enjoyed the way his heart raced whenever she drew near and hated how it began to ache lightly when left. It intoxicated him in a way he thought was impossible. He wrestled with the new feelings that stalked him even deep into his restless nights.

You're not very fair, are you? Percy thought. Thinking about Annabeth this way made him chuckle. When did he begin to feel this way? Was it after the night they shared under the stars, where they spent the night talking away the stars with their shoulders pressed together? Or was it before even that, when he glimpsed her fevered face under dim lights at the camp hospital? It did not matter anymore, for time seemed to bleed together when they were together.

Percy blinked, turning away from her. Heat rushed to his face as he felt suddenly guilty for having caught himself staring at her for too long. He noticed he was doing it more often nowadays and felt a slight shame for having been doing so, for he realized he had begun to notice the tiniest, normally inscrutable details, like how the light caught her skin and made it glow with an ebullience he thought could not be possible. His eyes rose to where Harry sat perched, attempting to purge his mind of the girl lying next to him. The demigod was quiet, slumbering serenely. He was nothing like how he was when they had first found him, bloodthirsty and almost ravenous, even, and on the fringe of becoming something less than human. Animalistic. Feral.

In the years since he'd been claimed by Poseidon, Percy had never seen anything to the likes of Harry. It brought an unease unlike any he'd ever known. The uncertainty brewed in his stomach ceaselessly, as if warning him how severe the situation was. What tormented Harry didn't appear to be derivations of any human sickness, either. No, on the surface, it seemed instead Harry had lost the parts that made him human and retained the bits that were more akin to something wild and primitive. Percy gritted his teeth, wondering if there were any more inflicted demigods. And if none existed, what could they do to prevent it from becoming endemic? With Red October having passed, leaving a gruesome body count in its wake, there were only so many demigods left to protect the world from those who would wish it harm, and even fewer unclaimed to bolster those waning numbers.

Percy recalled when the Red October attack had breached the camp barricades. He had been making rounds along the perimeter of the camp with Henry, a cabinmate of Hephaestus. They were absorbed in animated conversation when the wooden wall next to them shattered suddenly, splinters and dirt amok in the air. Percy couldn't see anything at first, but the roar coming from the sea of voices on the side and the thunderous sound of footsteps and hooves were clear. Everything was a rush after that, amidst Percy's slashing sword, which found its mark amongst countless beasts. Minotaurs, skeletons, hellhounds, and all else met their match underneath the blade of his weapon. And when the dust finally settled, Percy stood alone over a pile of bodies, panting and coughing.

And Henry . . . Percy spied what was left of him, buried amongst a thick mountain of corpses—his hand the only part distinguishable, still gripping onto a large, blackened hammer. And when Percy tried to pull him out of the mass, he found to his abhorrence that the appendage was all that remained.

Percy's stomach twisted at the recollection, threatening to jettison all the food he ate. He stood up and walked over to Harry, who woke at the sound of his approach.

"How you doing?" Percy asked, squatting next to him.

Silence. Harry's brown eyes glared defiantly back into his own, his lips pulling at the corners into an ominous snarl.

"That's not going to do," said Percy, sitting down and resting a hand on Harry's leg, who twitched with agitation at the touch.

"You can talk, right?" inquired Percy. "You're not magically mute."

Harry growled, a low guttural noise that was not dissimilar to that of a wolf. The bond around his hand creaked as it pulled taut. Harry drew his face close to Percy's as if to threaten him, then said, to Percy's surprise,

"You all piss me off." The vehemence in his voice stunned Percy briefly.

"What?" Percy said, almost sputtering. "You can talk?" A deep, unsettling coldness stirred in Harry's eyes as he glared unyieldingly into Percy's. An unfathomable, inscrutable complexity stormed within those eyes, one that bespoke of absolute rancor and animosity. It invoked a primal fear in Percy, the same chill prey got when stalked by its natural predator, and it troubled him so. He felt small under Harry's powerful, piercing gaze.

"You, him . . ." Harry said, loathingly, "her." He nodded his head toward Annabeth, who'd remained the same since Percy had left her side. "All the half-bloods. All these gods. I hate the world we've been brought into—and I hate that all of you have so easily come to accept something as filthy as this."

Percy frowned, the fear settling. "Have you always felt this way?"

"Yeah," said Harry, quickly, "I've always hated it."

"What about your sister?"

Harry flinched, his gaze shifting downwards as if ashamed. "Leave her out of this . . . she's innocent. She's lucky, because she doesn't share this same hate. I hate you all so much I'd gladly kill all of you. She doesn't have to feel this pain I feel. All of you . . . you demigods." Harry's voice grew loud. "You think that you can just go around, help the world, use your powers, and then what? Be framed forever? Immortalized under a shower of gold for those to celebrate just how awesome you were during life?"

"That's not—," Percy began.

"Don't give me your excuses!" hissed Harry, shaking his head. "Do you really think that you guys do what you do for the good fortune of other people, for their well-being, or is it really just for your own self-indulgence—to make your little daddies and mommies above happy?" The rope along his hand creaked again as it pulled even more rigid. "You're all liars, hiding under your shitty thin layer of excuses—do you really expect me to believe that you all would put your lives down on the line to save a little girl from being hit from a car while crossing the street? Facing death head on with nothing but your good intentions?" Harry spat near Percy's feet. "All of you are pathetic, glorified hypocrites."

"And that's why you hate us?" Incredulity tinged Percy's voice. A quick laugh escaped from his lips before he could manage it. "I'm sorry, but that's a pretty shitty reason, isn't it?"

Confusion spread across Harry's furious face, and with unfettered asperity, "what?"

Percy put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Well—I mean, I'm not exactly understanding getting it. I mean, I do understand in some way how you feel, but is this really it? Just because, what, a few demigods like to feel good when they help other people?"

"It's not just that," protested Harry, "everything in our world—the gods—our fathers and mothers, us. Everything about us is wrong. Everything about our thoughts is wrong. How we were raised, how we're trained," Harry waved his hand absentmindedly in the direction of the Camp, "how we act. There's nothing natural about us, Percy. Just offsprings of our ghost of a parent in the sky that can hardly even take time out of their day to claim us."

"We're all claimed now," reminded Percy. "You know that, don't you?"

Harry chuckled darkly. "Took one great war just to solve that one, didn't it? Look—it doesn't even matter, if you can't see how twisted our world is." Percy noticed Harry's hands tightening with irritation. "A life of rainbows and sunshine is proof of your delusion."

It was Percy's turn to laugh now, one that came from disbelief. "You're joking, right? In what world do any of us demigods see our world as beautiful? Especially after the shit that happened back at Camp?" He felt his own fists ball up at the memory of Henry's hand protruding from the pile of death. "We're just trying to live to the best we can out here. We're dying out here. There's no glory in any of this." He waved his hand feverishly as if to sum the entire world in his palm. "The only thing we have left is each other, and you—" he said, raising a hand against Harry's outburst of indignation, "are trying to take that away from all of us."

Harry growled with annoyance. "How dare you talk about loss to me. How. Dare. You."

Percy shook his head. "I'll call it how I see it, and you, Harry, are a traitorous bastard." Harry's face turned red like a kettle that had been left on the stove for too long. "What I don't understand, though, is why now? Why would you choose now, of all times to go completely nuts?"

For a moment, Percy thought Harry would tell him, for Harry's eyes spoke of overwhelming grief. His mouth opened, uttering a few grotesque and unintelligible words. They spilled out in spasms. Harry retched, much to Percy's consternation, spilling the contents of his lunch across the grass. He fell on all fours, spewing more food until the retching became heaving. Percy, taken aback, had taken a step away out of wariness. His right hand fingered the handle to his sword. He reached out with the other slowly, and took a step forward toward Harry.

"Harry?" he whispered. "Harry, are you okay?" He took another step forward.

Harry's head snapped up, his throat uttering guttural words Percy could not discern. Pain ran rampant across his face like he was torn amongst some personal turmoil. His fingers dug into the ground, dirt spilling over his hands as they grabbed handfuls of muck. Harry raised his head, a murderous gleam tinting his eyes, then suddenly, as if he had lost all sense, began to thrash violently. Percy stumbled back as Harry's hand whipped out wildly in an attempt to claw at his neck.

"Shut up! Shut up!" Harry's voice came strained. Percy dodged backwards as Harry lunged at him again. The taut rope around Harry's wrist yanked him back. He continued to struggle in place as if possessed by a demon, his feet sliding across the dirt as he attempted to press forward, tethered by the twine that held him in place. Percy quickly glanced around. The commotion had not been loud enough to wake his best friends, who continued slumbering resiliently through Harry's outburst. He gulped, pulling his sword halfway out its scabbard.

"Harry," he cautioned, "Harry—don't do anything stupid now. Nico might be a heavy sleeper, but I'm not too sure about Annabeth and I really don't want to find out today."

Harry's countenance wavered, changing from that of a deranged and possessed boy to one of desperation and hopelessness, as if beseeching Percy to aid him in some unspoken exorcism.

"I—I will k—kill—," gasped Harry, his eyes brimming with darkness. Blood trickled down his wrists where the binds bit in tightly against skin. He blinked, and suddenly the darkness was gone, replaced by crystal-clear blue eyes. "Help, Percy," he implored, and the darkness was back again.

Percy's blood ran cold at the sight of Harry. Monsters, he could do, but not this. This was uncommon, even among demigod standards.

"H—Harry," eased Percy, taking a half-step forward. "Harry, you in there?" He edged closer to the demigod, keeping his hand still on his sword's hilt.

"Harry," Percy said, warily. He was within arm's reach now, just a little . . .

Harry lunged, hand outstretched for his neck.

Annabeth awoke to muffled cries. Her hand shot out for Percy's hand and when she did not find it, she bolted upright, her sluggishness disappearing like a wisp in the wind.

"Percy?" she called, apprehensively. She squinted as bright light caught ahold in her eyes. "Percy?"

"Over here," came his voice, a bit tired. She whirled to find him standing, leaned against Harry's tree. His sword nested by his feet, sated with blood. Beside him lay Harry's unmoving and crumpled form. Blood dribbled down the side of Harry's face.

"What happene—Percy!" Annabeth rushed to the son of Poseidon as he groaned and slid onto his knees. The distance between the two of them closed quickly as her feet carried her swiftly across the grounds.

"Percy—Percy, look," Annabeth said, frantically, grabbing ahold of his face and turning it to her, "look at me—Percy."

Percy's eyes raised to meet hers. They seemed so faded, the vibrant green gone, usurped now by a muted, darker color. "Annabeth," he managed, rasping. And then, Annabeth noticed Percy's hand pushed up against his side. Red clotted his shirt underneath, spreading slowly. It leaked through his fingers, streaking along the backside of his hand.

Her breath went out in a gasp. "Shit, shit." She turned, her eyes darting wildly. "Nico!"

The son of Hades started, looking dazed momentarily before catching ahold of Annabeth and Nico. For a moment, his eyes stared, unable to process what was occurring in front of him. Then, he was by her side, searching frantically through his pack, muttering under his breath. Stuff flew out of the bag at lightning speed as he tossed bits and pieces over his shoulder.

"Here," he said, curtly, handing her a bottle of rubbing alcohol before turning to hold Percy's gaze. "It's going to hurt."

Percy looked at him wordlessly, steely resolve forming behind his darkened eyes, unspoken words flowing from him to his best friend. Nico nodded, then quickly turned to Annabeth.

"Annabeth," he said breathlessly, "clean the wound. Percy, move your hand."

Both she and Nico gasped when Percy obeyed. A deep incision ran along the side of his stomach, and from the wound gushed an endless stream of dark, crimson blood. His stomach shuddered with pain, convulsing tightly with his rapid breaths. His palm was completely red like it had skimmed the top of a bucket of paint.

Annabeth unscrewed the cap to the bottle and poured the contents into the wound. Percy thrashed vigorously, his eyes straining as if threatening to pop out. His face flushed heavily and his fists rolled up into balls so tight his knuckles turned white. Nico shackled both arms with his own, pressing down impassively, grimacing as one of Percy's hands broke free and jabbed him in the ribs.

"For fucks sake, Percy," he growled, grabbing ahold of Percy's free arm and forcing it back down. "Bandages—they're next to you."

Annabeth reached down and grasped the bandages. "Where's the gauze?"

"The what?" Nico's voice came exasperatedly.

"Gauze." Annabeth motioned to the bandage. "This bandage isn't enough, it'll bleed right through."

Nico made a click of annoyance, turning wildly to find the bag he had scavenged through. He tossed it to Annabeth, who caught it quickly.

"Check in there, inner pocket."

She reached in and found the gauze. Taking it with her right hand, she pressed it against the laceration.

"I'm sorry, Percy," she apologized, seeing the strained look in his face. "We can't sew up the wound with what we have. You're going to have to wait until we get back."

Taking ahold of the bandages in both her hands, she lapped them tightly around his body until the roll had all been used up.

"Lean him back," she ordered. Nico eased Percy's head back softly onto the grass. "Careful," she scolded upon seeing Percy wince.

"Annabeth, it's fine, really," grunted Percy. His voice was hoarse with tenderness. "You guys should keep a look out for him before he wakes back up."

Annabeth stared at him in surprise. "He's not dead?"

"What? No," Percy said, a little exasperatedly, "of course he's not dead—why would he be dead?"

"Um," Annabeth stammered, "because he's lying down in a pool of blood? Because you're lying here, wounded, and the most logical conclusion is that you killed him to save yourself?"

"Well, Annabeth," came Nico's voice. "His heart's still beating."

Confusion swept over Annabeth's mind like a wave, stirring a puzzling miscellany of emotions that bred intense incandescence towards Harry, for having injured Percy, and grudging relief, for part of her recognized the strange importance of keeping him alive.

"Well, we can't just sit here," said Annabeth promptly, irately swallowing, "let's bind both his hands again before he wakes up."

She coiled rope around Harry's free hand, not gently, and slung the end over a branch. She heaved, hoisting Harry's arm up so it stretched upwards, then rounded the base of the tree twice before tying the end off. Nico took it upon himself to tightly fasten Harry's fingers together with rope to prevent him from squirming out of Annabeth's invention.

"What now?" sighed Nico, his dark brown eyes unusually equivocal. Very few things made Nico unsure, and it was precisely this that made Annabeth uncertain herself. She knew what he was thinking, though. The pair had known each other long enough that they often found, much to their amusement, similar wonts among their thoughts.

Nico's mind was most indubitably preoccupied with the dilemma of returning home. They had only progressed half the journey before midday, and with most of the afternoon gone, traveling by nighttime would only spell disaster—fumbling around in the dark with Percy's wounds, not to mention Harry, who seemed to haphazardly fall in and out of a self-confliction. She knew as well as Nico did that the best course of action would be to spend the remainder of the day recuperating, prepping meals and making provisions for the trek tomorrow.

"Get kindle?" she asked, looking at him importunely. He grinned back, rolling his eyes, though the somberness remained.

"Try not to burn our dinner?" he recanted.

"I can taste test," volunteered Percy, gruffly. "Annabeth's food's great, Nico—when it still is food, at least."

Annabeth smiled, his teasing lost on her. Even when torpid, Percy tried his best to ease the tension. He lay almost motionless, a little way from Harry, a hand resting on his wound. His usual gleeful demeanor was replaced with one that reflected inordinate fatigue, and his face . . . it hurt Annabeth to see it stricken with a pallor so pale. It looked worse, so, juxtaposed against the sunlight.

"You can definitely do that," she concurred, "and I promise we will have something to eat tonight. Rest up tonight." Her voice carried its way to Percy. "We'll start again tomorrow, so try to save up some energy."

"Wouldn't miss it for a thing," smiled Percy. With that, he rested his head back against the grass and closed his eyes.

"Right, kindle it is," said Nico promptly, turning on his heels to march off, but hesitated and spun back around. "What are you actually going to make for dinner?"

Annabeth looked around. "I'll manage. We're in a forest for crying out loud. There's bound to be something."

"I'll let you handle that, then," he said, turning back around.

She stared at his retreating form until it vanished beyond the thicket.

"All right, then," turning her attention to the Poseidon's resting son, who had not yet fallen asleep but had eyes closed, "you can't turn back as my taste-tester now because we're completely and utterly out of food, so everything is going to be impromptu."

Percy's visage remained stony, save for a flicker at his lashes that gave his thoughts away. Annabeth smiled.

"Relax, I'm not going to poison you, silly," she laughed. "But, really, what the hell am I going to do for dinner?"


End file.
